


Sick With Longing

by LaLumiere



Series: Sick With Longing [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Complete, Drunk Dialing, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fame, Feels, Friendship, Internal Conflict, Jealousy, Lots of Great Clothes and Shoes, Manipulation, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Photo Shoots, Public Relations, SMUTTY SMUT, Sex, Sexual Tension, Tom is a Cad, Voice Kink, bad boy, good girl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:14:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4442513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaLumiere/pseuds/LaLumiere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luke Windsor started his own PR firm, Prosper UK, to offer his clients a more personalized, tailor-made PR experience. He was looking for the best of the best in the publicity game. However, when a chance meeting leads to an unusual hiring choice, the entertainment world is turned upside down by the arrival of Luke's new assistant, Kate Michael. </p><p>Although Kate quickly becomes a media darling, loved by Luke, the staff at Prosper, and the stars his firm works with, she vows to herself to stay away from Luke's most popular charge: Tom Hiddleston. The man will simply be the death of her, she decides, and if rumors are to be believed, he's a womanizing playboy. </p><p>A disastrous media event and a last-minute request will throw Kate right into Tom's path, until both parties must face their feelings.</p><p>In the immortal words of Oscar Wilde, "The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> First fic, you guys. Be gentle. Would love to know your thoughts…if there's interest I might continue writing. Here follows the prologue.

_**Prosper UK Has a New It Girl** _

_**Rumourroom.co.uk** _

_Dear Readers,_

_If you’re like us (and we know you are, you gossips!), you’ve recently noticed a really striking woman with Douglas Booth during his initial media tour for the upcoming_ Pride and Prejudice and Zombies _. We picked her out at first because of her gorgeous Degraspike Louboutins and sweet smile. Our comment section exploded with all your vitriol, envy, and intrigue._

 _Like you, we thought she was girlfriend material for the young heartthrob, until she appeared at Gemma Chan’s side on a press line for_ Humans _a few days later, looking as stunning as Gemma herself. Who was this person wearing the shit out of a Reiss Valina dress?_

_Did we mention we’ve also scouted this young lady around Iwan Rheon and Emma Watson?_

_Word has it that the mysterious blond with STYLE TO DIE FOR is an American professor of literature named Kate Michael. Instead of being the belle of the balls she’s attended (not sure of her relationship with other famous balls, ahem) she works for Luke Windsor’s burgeoning new PR firm, Prosper UK. Not juicy enough for you?_

_According to an anonymous source, Kate was apparently hired by Windsor himself, ON A DARE, after a chance meeting. What kind of services did she offer, exactly?_

_It seems no one can tell us what went down at that meeting, but when we hear, you’ll be the first to know…_

_Until next time, dear readers,_

_Rumour Room_

 

 

_**Prosper UK Staffs Odd Choice** _

_**Daily Mail** _

_What do stars Tom Hiddleston, Emma Watson, and Lucy Boynton have in common?_

_The obvious answer would be, “all have careers on the rise here in England and elsewhere in the world.”_

_The lesser-known answer is that these actors, along with a host of others, recently transferred their loyalties to a new London-based PR firm called Prosper. Prosper is the brainchild of Luke J. Windsor, longtime PR man at Public Eye and previous publicist for Lionsgate and Palisades Tartan Films. The Bournemouth graduate broke away from Public Eye in late 2014 to head his own public relations outfit and took many of his clients with him._

_According to a close colleague, Windsor felt that his previous post was becoming too “impersonal” and sought to create a firm where a smaller group of his charges could be “looked after in more meaningful, personality-tailored ways.” What Windsor didn’t expect, though, was a run-in with a young American professor during the hiring process._

_“I was sat down at a lunch with a group of friends in Covent Garden, trying to plan out how I was going to hire people to do the kind of round-the-clock, perfectionist work I needed,” Windsor explains._

_“Not two minutes later this sweet little American charges over to my table, holding out her hand and saying, ‘I’m sorry to eavesdrop, but I bet you an entire year’s salary I can do this job better than anyone else who works for you’ and I was caught completely off guard because her CV had just landed on my salad. All I saw of her experience was ‘professor’ and ‘teacher’ and I just thought, this has got to be the biggest joke. Who would go on holiday armed with their resume, charging at locals?”_

_The young woman’s name was Kate Michael, on holiday for two weeks in London during a summer away from her English professorship in the States. As it turned out, she had been looking for a career change and saw a spontaneous opportunity in Windsor’s new venture. The PR man took the bait, he said, because he wanted someone from “outside” the box of public relations and media._

_“She has since revealed to me,” laughs an impish-looking Windsor, “that she always wanted to meet Emma Watson and that’s why she asked for the job.”_

_And have the two met?_

_“Oh, yes. And Emma loves her. In fact, Miss Michael is becoming quite invaluable at Prosper,” Windsor smiles. “The clothes and shoes are definitely a big talking point around the office.” Windsor is obviously referring to Kate’s much-talked-about style when working alongside Prosper’s acting elite. He is certainly in no rush to tell her to tone down the high fashion, however. “We don’t ever want to detract from the talent at Prosper, obviously,” states Windsor, emphatically. “But we have noticed that Miss Michael is garnering a lot of attention for her style. She gets photographed at events almost as much as the talent does. Any spotlight on Prosper is good, in my book. Our clients love her. I must also add that she’s impeccable at her work – what I thought was a long shot, hiring a professor of Victorian Literature, has become one of my greatest accomplishments! Everyone wins, really.”_

_One can only imagine what a bookish type like Kate is doing amongst the best and brightest of England’s acting community._

_And will Windsor win the bet? Time will tell…_

 

 

**_Blind Item_**

_**Shhh! News** _

_This non-celebrity is fast becoming famous in her own right for her spontaneous job offer at a relatively new UK company. She works alongside celebs and has been photographed with nearly all of them – mostly the ones in her direct line of work. Something’s not quite right, though; of all the famous clientele our working fashionista rubs shoulders with, she has yet to be seen with a very prominent A-list star repped by the very company she works for. Word on the street? She can’t stand him and his reckless behaviour._

 

_**Luke J Windsor’s Twitter @lukejwindsor** _

_For those of you asking, #KateMichael is NOT on Twitter. She is, however, waving at you while I tweet this._

 

_**Emma Watson’s Twitter @EmWatson** _

_Can #KateMichael be a thing now? Because she’s in a meeting with me tomorrow and I kind of love her…_

 

_**Tom Hiddleston’s Twitter @twhiddleston** _

_Joining the #KateMichael party @lukejwindsor @EmWatson_

 

 

_**Kate Michael Now a Thing on Twitter** _

_**Rumourroom.co.uk** _

_Dear Readers,_

_Seems that Prosper’s most famous resident assistant publicist now has her own hashtag on Twitter. Yeah. #KateMichael._

_We’ve been watching closely (no doubt you have too) at the actors and actresses who jumped on the #KateMichael bandwagon after Luke Windsor’s initial tweet about her. You’ll note Emma Watson and Tom Hiddleston were first into the fray…everybody seriously LOVES this chick!_

_We did some digging since many of you have been asking, but we haven’t found out much about Miss Michael other than her previous career as a Victorian Literature professor at a small college back in America. She’s kept her personal information to a minimum, we suppose, to appease Windsor’s strict PR rules. An insider in the PR biz told us this was “standard operating procedure” and that “any major personal information about the staff at a firm can detract from the focus on the artists.”_

_Here’s hoping Windsor and Co. can get Kate to join Twitter. Rumour has it she’s sweet and extremely funny…we’d love some #KateMichael here at the Room._

_Until next time, dear readers,_

_Rumour Room_

 

 

_**Prosper UK Assistant Most Photographed** _

_**The Guardian** _

_In what is surely a first, American Kate Michael of Prosper UK has recently become one of the most widely-photographed celebrity publicists (assistant or otherwise) in England._

_The former literature professor from the Northeastern US was recently hired by Prosper’s Luke Windsor after a now-infamous bet during a Covent Garden working lunch. Michael is photographed almost daily with the various talent Prosper UK represents. Many fans of Gemma Chan, Emma Watson, and Douglas Booth, among others, have commented on Kate’s remarkable style and grace in the last several months. Fan websites and social media have begun following her every (working) move._

_We asked some of our readers to chime in regarding the buzz around Prosper’s most famous non-famous person:_

_“I think she’s gorgeous. Got a real sense of self and seems to hold her head high in a room full of famous people.” – Bernice, York_

_“Her clothes are gorgeous!! My friends and I all want to dress like her and she’s constantly looking professional but sexy. Wish I could pull that off.” –Lindy, Sheffield_

_“Flash in the pan. I’ll be interested in her when she gets caught up with one of the actors she works with. She’s a non-story.” Noel, Southampton_

_“My mum met her once during a small film premiere in Leicester Square. Mum told Kate she loved her dress and Kate thanked her and spoke with her for a few minutes. She seems really gracious.” – Tamsin, London_

_“My wife and I are interested in how this young woman acquired her job. She was a professor and now this? I think we’re all just interested to see how she does her job, being an outsider.” – Paul, Derby_

 


	2. You're Hired, Yankee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet our protagonist; we don't yet meet Mr. Hiddleston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could barely type this chapter as fast as it was coming…much thanks to my real-life Nicole, beta reader and friend for life!

“Jesus Christ, Kate. Is Barnes and Noble merging with Victoria’s Secret to create some weirdo hot librarian clothing line I don’t know about? Could you at least take your hair down? I’m afraid you’ll shush me!”

Looking up from my iPad at the sound of sudden company, I smirked at Nicole as she dropped her bag onto her desk, eyeing my Victoria Beckham ready-to-wear. Pushing my glasses up my nose, I wheeled around the edge of my desk to hold out a spiky sandal in Nic’s direction.

“No, my dear one,” I laughed. “The dress is VB and these,” I wiggled my foot, “are Louis Vuitton Bright Shades. So, not Barnes and Noble or the Secrets of Lady Victoria. As for the glasses, well…they’re functional. I’m one hundred percent blind without them, weirdo hot librarian or not. Contacts were a no-go today as I had a rather late evening - ”

“Ooh! Doing whom?” Nicole inquired, practically thrumming with excitement. I savored her happiness on my behalf for a moment, knowing it would end all too quickly. It was obvious she would be disappointed by my answer. Answers about my (nonexistent) social life did tend to disappoint my closest office confidante. They probably also made her suspicious. But hey, who was I to start dating around after arriving in a foreign country on a semi-permanent basis only a handful of weeks ago?

_Not your problem. You made a deal._

“Not whom, you perv,” I started. “I was catching up on episodes of _Humans_ to keep on top of the press reviews Gemma’s getting. Per Sir Windsor’s request. He thinks I can anticipate possible interview questions and prep her when she does eventual press rounds for the series finale.” Pausing the current episode I had been finishing, I carefully eyed Nic as she flopped into her desk chair, sipping from a tall coffee and booting up her laptop. Despite her otherwise occupied actions, I could still feel Nicole’s entire attention on me.

“Well, you look nice, _again_ , as usual, and I don’t know why you’re all dressed up all the damn time if you just go home to an empty flat and watch telly in service of the boss man,” she sniffed. “I mean, not to be rude, but you’re more well-dressed than this entire firm, Lord knows how that’s even possible, and you’re just an American teacher who happened to strike when Luke was desperate and possibly mentally unstable at lunch hour. He gets that way, you know? Delusional if the food’s not ready. That’s the only explanation I can think of as to why he would hire someone so, um, out of place here. Were his eyes rolled back in his head when you approached? Was he seizing with hunger like Lohan at a coke party?”

I bust out laughing, sticking my tongue out at her.

“Not that I don’t love you, Kate the Great, because I do,” she backtracked, wiggling her eyebrows at me while she started tapping on her iPhone. “But you know eventually you’re going to tell me just how _exactly_ you’ve managed to get on here and also how _exactly_ you’re able to afford all these jaw-dropping wardrobe choices the press and public are salivating over.” Apparently Nicole had read all the gossip columns and news stories about my clothing, too.

_Lie to her. You made a deal._

“Look, Nic. I’ve told you. I inherited a bit of money back home and one of Luke’s conditions for hiring me as his PA was that I needed to look the part.”

It wasn’t a total lie.

“Yeah but why does he need you to look any different than the rest of us media relations shills?” Her brows were furrowed, as they appeared many times before when we had this conversation. Somehow she refused to let my answers go, time and time again. Twirling a curl of her chocolate hair around a finger, she waited for a response that was nearly identical every time I delivered it.

“Ugh, Nic. Come on. You said it yourself just a few moments ago – in fact, you bring it up all the time. I’m ‘just an American teacher’ – thanks for being condescending, by the way – and I don’t really belong in this world. The boss thought the more I cleaned up, the more people would take my role as his assistant seriously. I mean, we both know that having degrees in literature and experience teaching teenagers and university students overseas doesn’t really translate the best to PR and the entertainment world, right? He knew people would question his choice. Clients might be discouraged from working with us.”

“Mm hmm,” she mumbled absently, suddenly distracted by something on her phone.

I continued anyway. “You know I was hired to do this job after I basically bet Luke I could do it better as a ‘civilian’ than anyone else in the PR business. He admired my tenacity in approaching him. I agreed to go along with whatever he suggested, because he saw my hiring as an opportunity to show Prosper’s ability to think ‘outside the box’ and blah blah blah.”

Nic put her phone down.“Yes, Kate, I know. We have this conversation at least once a week.”

“Well, you bring it up. You know how I got the job; I’ve explained to you why I dress the way I do – “ I started back on the spiel again, when she interrupted me.

“So you’re basically prostituting yourself out for Prosper, then?” she countered, quieting down as several other staffers began arriving. Pretending she was busy at work, she put her head down and began organizing the day’s schedules for two of her own.

_And there it is. Someone’s finally said it._

I didn’t flinch – I had been expecting a version of this comment to come along far sooner than it had and I’d made it a whole two months – but went over to prep Luke’s coffee, knowing he’d be coming in soon. On my way to the lounge area, I stopped right beside Nic’s desk, kneeling down near her and placing a hand on her arm. “Any attention to the firm is good; you know this,” I whispered. “Everyone knows I made a bet with Luke and I’ll be damned if I have to pay back everything I earn, pound for pound, this year.” I squeezed her arm softly and walked away, wondering if she could hear the anxiety in my voice.

 ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“There’s my lovely Yankee,” beamed Luke as I brought in his coffee and handed him his daily appointment rundown. He looked at me appraisingly, starting from the blond hair loosely piled atop my head, down to my large specs, along the contours of the red, white, and black dress, all the way to the toes of my precariously perched feet. He seemed satisfied, nodded, and motioned for me to sit as he took a tentative sip of his morning brew.

“You are looking fabulous _again_ today, if I may say so myself, Kate,” he chuckled.

“Thank you, boss,” I smiled demurely. “I can’t help but notice that the wardrobe boxes and gift bags being sent to my residence are becoming increasingly more expensive. I mean, I was happy to start with my own clothes, which I thought were all lovely and suitable for the work, but you’re sending things two times a week now, Luke. Don’t you think that’s a bit much? I mean, people are starting to talk,” I faltered, looking out his office window to see Nic observing our exchange. “And I know the goal was to get the press and the clients and everyone outside talking, but I do have to work with the staff and get on with them best I can inside.” I looked down at my small hands, feeling a tiny sense of panic at possibly being made a caricature.

I could almost hear the glee in his response as I watched him leaf through his agenda for the late morning and early afternoon. “Well, you do recall that you promised to reimburse my company every British Pound sterling you receive during your tenure if I find your work to be less than perfect – in any way, correct?” he queried.

“Yes.”

“And you do remember how brash – if not polite – you were in approaching me at a private business lunch, flinging your CV all over my salad nicoise?” He pantomimed throwing his appointment packet at me, eyes wide in feigned shock at the memory, and I giggled.

“I do. The whim of my life, apparently.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to keep doing the splendid job you volunteered for, or else you’re going to owe Prosper a hell of a lot of money. That dress you’re wearing was about £1595, I believe,” he winked.

“Do I get to go over your morning with you before you magically recall the cost of these –“

“The Vuittons are £610!” he shouted triumphantly. “God I love the smell of success before 11:00 am!”

I groaned, partly exasperated and partly humored. “You know this is like some sick sort of blackmail, right? Bribing me with gorgeous clothes and the threat of having to pay you back for things I’m not even buying on my own, just so you get a twenty-four hour workhorse,” I hissed, remembering Nic’s comment about my self-prostitution.

“I do, my dear girl. But you,” he pointed at me, “approached me. And you laid a bet straight at my feet. It was a genius move on your part, really: present yourself as a totally qualified individual for my company when in reality you had absolutely no experience in the field. I was too aghast to say no!” He clapped his hands and motioned for me to stand at his side, to be ready to go over the day’s issues and compile my duties.

“Yes, well, in my previous line of work, organization and presentation were still everything. I still maintain I’m a dab hand at both the written and spoken word, and you certainly haven’t complained since I got here.” I nudged him gently in the shoulder with my elbow.

“Touché, Kate. Touché. I trust you worked on your _Humans_ assignment last evening?” he inquired.

“I did. I’m having a Facetime chat with Gemma later this afternoon so we can discuss possible angles that might come up in the next few weeks. Great show,” I replied.

“Yes, that was quite a catch for her, and for Prosper itself. What else have I got on tap for today?”

I spent the next few minutes going over the odds and ends of Luke’s mid-morning and afternoon, but before I could get to the two evening items that needed his attention, he stopped me as if he suddenly remembered something important.

“Dare I ask if you’ve been reading any of the gossip sites lately?” he simpered. “Well obviously I have. It’s kind of hard to avoid the media side of things in this line of work.” My vague response was hollow even to my own ears.

“You know what I mean,” he continued. “You’re becoming quite popular, aren’t you? My little protégé from America. The schoolteacher with sass! The professor of poise! The starlet who’s not even famous, yet everyone talks about her as much as they do her clients! I’ve really outdone myself with you,” he sat back, smiling smugly. “Have you happened to stumble across any _Shhh! News_ blind items lately?”

The look in his eyes was positively maniacal. I tried not to take the bait.

“Uhm, well, I mean there’s usually several every week so I’m not sure of which ones you’re referring to, if you even go there at all,” I finished lamely.

“My darling Yankee girl, I called in that most recent blind. You know the one. The non-celeb? The spontaneous offer? The A-list actor she loathes? I thought it would _sweeten the pot_ for you a little bit,” he grinned.

I swayed a little on my feet, my mind racing at the possibilities. Anyone with half a brain in the industry would know that blind was about me, and one quick scan at our press materials and contact info would reveal a host of choices that fell under the term “A-list actor”.

_How long before he figures it out? Or had he already?_

_Shit_.

I recovered myself quickly, as if it was just another small test Luke Windsor was throwing at me, his devoted personal assistant and rumored Prosper UK publicity whore.

“Well, I’m glad you think it will sweeten the pot, you Lobsterback,” I parried, throwing the Americanism at the man who most often referred to me as “Yank” or “Yankee” in private. “Because whether he finds out or not, it’s not going to affect my work _one damn bit_ ,” I finished.

Luke drummed his fingertips on his desk as he leaned back in his chair. “Well that’s good, Kate, because you’ve got to wrangle our dear boy on a little excursion tomorrow evening.” His smile was wider than I’d ever seen it, despite only knowing him for a couple of months.

I faltered. Moving quickly around the front of his desk to a chair, panic got the best of me and I had to sit momentarily. “But you said he wouldn’t be part of my contract! I told you I refuse to work with someone like that, lording it over everyone else and pretending to be such a sweet gentleman while he screws and screws over everything that has tits and a warm place for him to nestle his big EGO!” I exploded, barely mindful enough to keep my tone quiet.

Luke put a hand in the air to silence my mini-rant. “Two things, before you go any more nuclear on me. One, Cara is ill and I can’t get any other coverage for her tomorrow evening – you’re the only one who will be free to make sure he’s trussed up and ready to go. He hasn’t properly met you yet!” he exclaimed. 

“Oh good Lord,” I rolled my eyes. “I wonder what the difference is when Tom Hiddleston _meets_ a woman and then _properly_ meets her?” My arms had folded themselves across my chest in a protective gesture and one foot was tapping a quick staccato beat on Luke’s office floor.

_Agitated, much?_

“Two,” Luke continued, “you signed off on a legal document saying that you wouldn’t get involved with him, or anyone else we represent, for that matter. Your contract _never_ _stipulated_ that you weren’t allowed to work with him. Don’t think I’ve forgotten our initial conversation, Kate. Think very hard about how you presented yourself to me at that lunch, and recall that you were none too displeased to sign off on this job. Your reasoning for wanting me to hire you was perfectly sound, and in hindsight of that initial conversation, I truly think it’s a blessing in disguise that Cara is unable to attend to Tom tomorrow. You’re the natural choice; after all, everyone seems to love you.”

A genuine smile passed over his eyes, but his mouth was set in a firm frown. It was then that Luke’s phone rang, and I saw that I was dismissed from further pleading on my part. Taking my leave, I looked down at my phone on my way back to my desk, checking the usual gossip sites and social media accounts I’d bookmarked. I refreshed the website for Rumour Room and gave a small start as I read the latest update:

 

_**Kate Hate?** _

_**Rumourroom.co.uk** _

_Dear Readers,_

_Remember that simply-simple blind item that_ Shhh! News _published several weeks ago about a non-celeb who refused to work with one of her company’s top actors?_

_We thought it was too easy, and according to your emails and comments, you did too._

_It’s clear the it-girl is none other than our girl-crush Kate Michael. But who does Prosper UK rep that she would have a problem with? We scoured Prosper’s website, Luke Windsor’s Twitter and Instagram accounts, and even tapped some of our local sources to come up with a list of potential A-list men represented by Windsor’s company._

_Our best guess? Tom Hiddleston._

_Wouldn’t that be an explosive match? Here at Rumour Room we know Hiddles is one of your faves, tall drink of water that he is, and it goes without saying that Miss Michael is, too. (Kate: we loved the Virevolte Hermès bag you had with you on your coffee run from the office last week!)_

_Here’s hoping Kate throws away her Hiddleston inhibitions and gifts us with some major photo footage soon. She’s been photographed with nearly every other celeb linked to Prosper UK._

_Our fingers are crossed, dear readers,_

_Rumour Room_

 

This day was apparently going to go from pretty good to “oh, fuck”, I decided. And if I thought I knew Tom Hiddleston at all, I was pretty sure he kept up with his name anytime it appeared in print – digital or otherwise. Now he had both a blind item and practically an outright admission of my loathing for him. And I’d never actually met the guy. Shit.

What had Luke said to me right before I left his office?

“…in hindsight of that initial conversation, I truly think it’s a blessing in disguise that Cara is unable to attend to Tom tomorrow. You’re the natural choice…”

I thought back to our impromptu lunch meeting all those weeks ago in Covent Garden, right as he had toyed around with giving me the job.

_“So let me guess. You know who I am, and you know who I work with, so you just decided to come over to this table and interrupt my lunch so you could possibly get a chance to meet Tom Hiddleston?”_

I had accidentally laughed in his face at that, I remembered. He seemed surprised.

_“Actually, Mr. Windsor, no. I’m more of a fan of Emma Watson. I grew up watching her as Hermione Granger and have followed her career with great interest. I’m thrilled she’s been cast as Belle in the live-action remake of Beauty and the Beast. I’m here in London on an extended holiday and I apologize, I don’t know what’s come over me, but I’ve been feeling very stifled in my current job and I want to offer you my services. I know the bet was quite brash but I feel very confident I could meet your high standards of excellence.”_

The chat had continued for quite awhile, with Luke’s colleagues bowing out after I had been asked to seat myself at the table. We talked about my unusual skill set for the PR game, and he kept moving the conversation back again and again to Tom Hiddleston.

_“So you’re absolutely sure this has NOTHING to do with wanting to meet Tom?”_

_“No, sir.”_

_“And you would be fully willing to accept a contract with me based solely on the stipulations of the bet you just threw down?”_

_“I would.”_

_“And you have NO INTEREST in Tom Hiddleston?”_

I had laughed profusely, somewhat confused, at his insistent repetition of the question. I swore to him again and again that I didn’t.

_“Do you even know WHO I’m referring to, Miss Michael?”_

_“I do, Mr. Windsor. I’ve seen his work. And while I agree he is talented, I’ve…heard things about him. I’m simply not impressed. I stand by my statement that I want this job out of professional curiosity and good old fashioned love for Emma Watson and the things she’s done for female empowerment.”_

What had followed was an evening touring the Prosper office complex, followed by the nailing down of several contract stipulations on Luke’s part. At first I had assumed everything was standard for a PR firm, but halfway through the negotiations, Luke asked one of his staffers to leave the office so he and I could discuss some confidentiality matters. I had been curious, thinking (rightly) that this wasn’t usually how things worked in a hiring meeting. Luke then presented me with an alternate contract that read less like a legal document and more like the bet I had hastily proposed at Covent Garden. I skimmed quickly, excited by the prospect of success in another field, of living (however briefly) in England…of meeting Emma Watson. All was normal except:

_Shall reimburse L.J. Windsor for any salary, commissions, extraneous earnings or property acquired during job tenure if found to be unsatisfactory for position_

_Shall agree to work in any capacity, but primarily as PA and assistant publicist, under L.J. Windsor, accepting any and all duties relevant to Prosper UK_

_Will accept certain royalties in the form of property, clothing, shoes, accessories, and other goods so as to add to Prosper’s media appeal and to generate client/prospect interest_

_Will NOT get involved personally with Prosper UK clientele and will maintain a professional working distance and attitude from talent at all times_

By the time it hit me, the ‘thing’ Luke meant by his statement in the office, my phone chirped that I had a new text message. Ignoring Nic’s requests from across the room to go on another coffee run for everyone, I sat down at my desk and swiped across my lock screen.

_**Luke** _

_Remember that last contract stipulation…you’re perfect for him. I’m shipping a Lanvin to your flat for tomorrow night. More later! L_

Perfect for him. Because I hated Tom Hiddleston and hadn’t even met him, yet. I swear I could hear Luke laughing in his office.


	3. Just The Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate finally meets Tom in the flesh. Things get a little heated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I haven't done so yet, to save my ass, let me remind everyone this is a total work of fiction. I don't own or know any of these people, I don't know how PR works, I'm just writing this shit because it's fun.
> 
> Give me a yell if you're still reading and enjoying, everyone!

It was probably the combination of a lack of sleep the night before and utter panic from the time I awoke that made me miss a lot of subtle signs when I arrived at Prosper the next morning. I felt so frazzled at the prospect of what Luke was making me do that I paid no attention to the gaggle of staffers who stopped their whispering to stare at me when I got to work.

I was also unaware of Luke smirking in my general direction, all the way through the glass windows of his office, upon my arrival.

It wasn’t until I neared my desk that Nicole ambushed me, practically squealing, asking me who they were from.

“ _What_ are from _who_?” I queried, totally fuzzy and trying my best not to stomp my foot in the boss man’s direction like a toddler. I couldn’t believe I had to waste an evening working with Tom Hiddleston. Luke knew I loathed the guy, despite never having laid eyes on him. I was pretty sure this Cara chick was ill, but honestly, how hard was it for Luke himself to cover for her? He used to shadow Tom all the time, from what I’d come to understand.

“Have you not seen your desk?!” She was practically yelling in my face with glee.

_What the hell? Did someone do one of those weird pranks where they cover office furniture with Post-It sticky notes?_

I wasn’t left wondering much longer because she backed away from me to reveal my workspace, now hidden by the largest floral arrangement I’d ever seen in my life. Tall, crystal-cut vase. Blood-red roses, at least fifty. Small, cream-colored card tucked in at the top. _Ms. Kate Michael_ was scrawled fluidly across the envelope.

Stomach tightening uncomfortably, I placed my belongings onto my desk chair and scanned around the room, noting how everyone’s eyes quickly averted from me.

_Okay. The best way to do this is just sit the hell down, scan the card really fast, and go about my business._

Nic wasn’t going to leave. Not until I told her either what the card said, or who it was from, or both. I sighed inaudibly, grabbed for the small square of stationery, and prepared for the worst.

_**Looking forward to our evening together. Tom** _

Without a word, I handed the card to Nicole, rolling my eyes as I did so. How original was this guy? Red roses? We don’t even know each other and he’s sending RED ROSES? Not to mention the fact he only signed his first name, as if there was only one Tom on earth – the all-important Tom Hiddleston. Just another reason to be unimpressed. I suddenly felt very justified in my original assertions to Luke that I wanted nothing to do with Tom. He was egotistical, womanizing…

“Wow,” my closest office friend murmured. “This is – “

“A shame?” I asked.

“Nope,” Nic replied. Her tone was full of envy, not being the recipient of the bouquet. “This is standard Tom Hiddleston procedure. Well, sort of. Anytime he’s worked on an outing for the first time with any of us ladies, he’s always delivered flowers. Quite the gentleman,” she sighed.

“Gentleman?” I sneered. “You think because this guy sends cliché red roses with an impersonal message to every woman in this office he’s a gentleman?” I was annoyed; my voice was rising. “For a man with his income, with his personal history of wealth that I’ve heard all about from you, he thinks throwing some money at a florist actually counts as something meaningful?”

Most of the office had ceased working; all eyes were on me and the tirade flowing from my lips. My enraged trance was broken when Luke cleared his throat, stepping out of his office.

“Kate, a word?” He motioned me to follow him as he headed back into his doorway.

Snatching the card from Nicole to throw it in the trash, I reconsidered and crumpled it in my fist as I stalked past her toward Luke.

_He must be loving this right now._

I closed Luke’s office door none too gently and tossed the smashed-up card onto his desk, flinging myself into a chair like a sulking teenager. “Did you put him up to this?” I accused. “You must be loving this whole ‘your contract never stipulated you wouldn’t work with him’ scenario!” I was so bothered by the thought of Tom Hiddleston thinking he could enchant me that I was unaware of my threatening tone toward my superior. My glowering stare seemed to wither Luke’s good humor momentarily, but I watched as he unfolded the card and read it himself, pleasant surprise coloring his face. This enraged me more.

“I don’t know what he means by this, Luke, but it’s unimpressive and frankly an insult to me,” I continued, “thinking he can charm me with some generic flowers and a hastily-written note.” Luke still said nothing. He continued to sit, smile, and wait me out.

I found rather quickly that I had nothing else to say; I was running out of steam.

“You really don’t like Tom, do you?” Luke queried.

“I thought I made that pretty obvious from day one,” I responded bitingly.

“It’s not only hilarious to me how much vitriol you have for a man you’ve never met, but also highly entertaining for me to watch this all unfold. You will be spectacular for his ego,” Luke chuckled. “He could do with a little challenge in his life – someone to keep him in line instead of fawning all over him.”

“Well no wonder they all fawn over him if he’s sending bouquets of flowers hither, thither, and yon to all the females of Prosper!”

“Oh is _that_ what Nicole told you?” Luke’s voice hushed conspiratorially. “She’s not given you all the information, I’m afraid,” he chuckled.

My brows crinkled and I looked at Luke questioningly, wondering what the hell Nic could have failed to mention to me. Of course, she did have those ridiculous stars in her eyes when she mentioned Tom’s notorious flower deliveries.

“Did Miss Hackett tell you Tom has always previously sent flowers to female staffers when they work together?”

I nodded.

“Well, she’s not far off the mark. Nearly every female in this office has gotten a floral arrangement from Tom.”

I rolled my eyes, mouthing ‘of course’, when Luke shushed me suddenly.

“ _However_ , it seems he’s stepped up his game with your flowers. You see, Tom routinely sends a red rose – as in one singular flower – anytime he works with a new female face. You, my darling Yankee, seem to have amassed an entire bouquet of, what?” he mimed counting as he glanced out the window, “fifty or sixty?” I felt my face grow warm. I looked at the floor as Luke continued his explanation. “Furthermore, I didn’t put him up to anything. But I think I should also let you know that Tom has never before sent a card along with his deliveries to any other staffers. He usually had me tell the recipients who sent their flowers. You managed to get multiple flowers and a handwritten message to go along with them.”

Distressed at my outburst, embarrassed by the unwanted attention from Tom as well as most of the office, and ashamed at the small surge of pleasure growing in the pit of my stomach, I could do nothing but remain silent.

“I suggest, given your temperament, and the fact you look just a few moments short of being ill all over my floor, that you head home for the day to finish up your preparations for this evening, dear Yank. As I said, your Lanvin should be delivered this afternoon. I’ve arranged for a car to collect you, and from your flat you’ll need to head over to Hampstead to get Tom situated and onto the Tate gala.”

Shamed by my unprofessional behavior, I simply nodded. Luke handed me the crumpled note from Tom. “Take your flowers with you. I’ll be in touch as needed with the final itinerary.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

By the time I locked the door behind me in my apartment (I still had a hard time acclimatizing to the word ‘flat’), I had lugged in my work materials, the large vase of flowers, and the expected blue Lanvin box that had been left at the front desk down in the lobby. I didn’t even want to open it yet; whatever was inside was just another pile of British currency that I would owe Luke when he decided to sack me from this job.

Meandering carefully to my bedroom, I deposited my bag, my purse, and the box onto my bedspread. The flowers were another story.

_Do I even want to keep these? I don’t even like roses, much less red ones._

I settled for dumping the roses – vase and all – into the trash bin. The card, however, I couldn’t seem to part with. Taking it out of my bag, I read through Tom’s innocuous sentiment again and again. Why would he send me this? None of the others got a note. I knew if I thought too hard about that bastard’s reasoning for doing anything at all, I would drive myself to distraction. I didn’t have time for distraction. I had an art gala to prepare for.

Rummaging around my apartment for my reading materials, my iPad, and my phone, I began doing last-minute research while waiting for Luke to email me the timetable for the evening. After I had examined the layout of the Tate Modern for a few minutes, my iPhone chimed with a new email. Attached was some pertinent information for the evening – Tom was being honored as an exemplary donor, a “Platinum Patron”, as it was called, and he had been asked to attend a small gala opening for a newly acquired collection. Not much would be required on my part, just making sure he spoke with some members of the Tate’s board, mingled with other patrons, and chatted with the press and photographers who would be present. Fairly standard. I was reading Luke’s additional information about key board members when my text notification chimed with an unknown number.

I rubbed my eyes as I swiped the screen and then began to read.

_**Did you like the roses?** _

Dread settled in my stomach. It had to be Tom; who else would send such a message? Perhaps it was one of my colleagues at Prosper, either being nosy or making a joke. I was about to copy and paste the number to Nic when another message from the same number popped up.

_**This is Tom, by the way…** _

Deliberating whether or not to be nice, much less to believe I was actually having a (one-sided) conversation with Mr. Hiddleston himself, I settled on being slightly snarky.

_**Tom who?** _

I laughed to myself after hitting the send button, delighted that I was besting him at this odd game he’d started.

Too bad my delight didn’t last.

What followed was a picture. It was a close-up of Tom’s face, glowering at the camera lens, one eyebrow raised in challenge toward my attitude. Ashamedly, my heart stuttered and I felt my face coloring for the second time that day. "You never said he wasn’t attractive," I murmured to myself. My phone chimed again. Same number.

_**I signed my name on the card, didn’t I? No need to be rude, darling.** _

Ah, yes. The ‘darling’ shit. Even from what little of this man’s career I had followed, I learned very early on that one of his favorite monikers for fans, particularly women, was the umbrella term ‘darling.’ This word was practically his trademark. And it worked on everyone, if the internet was to be believed.

_Not going to work on me. Just as cliché as your roses._

I wanted to be even ruder, but realized I would be spending the better part of an evening with a man who had sent me flowers before even meeting me. It would do me no good to make an enemy of him – even if he was “the Tom.” The very one I loathed for all his flirtations in public, his dalliances with co-stars, his obvious inability to commit…I could have gone on for days. But then I realized he was waiting for a response. I bit the bullet, opting to go for polite but distant. I still had a job to do, after all. And if I did that job badly, as Luke Windsor and my signed Prosper contract often reminded me, I would be in a great amount of debt. So I typed slowly.

_**Apologies. Flowers were lovely, if not to my taste. I’ll be at yours to collect you around 7 pm. Black tie.** _

Tossing my phone on the couch, I resolved to ignore any further communication with Tom until I had to. And I really wanted to see what Luke had sent from Lanvin. Eagerly moving toward my bedroom, I was beginning to feel a small measure of excitement. I loved going out to galleries and museums – and what better place than in London? I would have on a beautiful outfit and could perhaps spend a few moments that evening indulging in some modern art with a flute of champagne in my hand.

The dress was from Lanvin’s Summer 2014 collection, nothing groundbreaking, but it was perfectly chic and complementary to the black tie dress code. A black and white mousse jersey “techno” cocktail dress, it would make me look like a wrapped present up top and a sleek professional from the waist down. As it were, Luke had previously purchased a pair of black and white Manolo Blahnik Llonica heels that would match perfectly.

_You can definitely say you never had the opportunity to give a lecture on themes of madness in_ Jane Eyre _wearing something as gorgeous as a Lanvin dress._ _This job definitely has its perks._

 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was only a few hours later, after I had eaten, showered, and done my hair that I realized I hadn’t checked my phone for any further information from Luke. As it turned out, he hadn’t sent any other messages. But Tom had.

_**That Lanvin will look stunning on you.** _

In that moment, I completely forgot about any of my earlier reticence to engage Tom Hiddleston in conversation. I was too curious.

_**How did you know Luke sent me Lanvin?** _

_**And how do you know what it looks like?** _

I was hitting the goddamned send button like it had done me a personal wrong. This was too weird. My impatience, however, was still rewarded rather swiftly when he responded.

_**I picked it out myself.** **Luke gave me your measurements and I took the liberty of choosing that dress for you. I thought we could coordinate for our first outing together.** _

My heart dropped. Did he know my deal with Luke? Did he know that Luke was funding all of my ridiculously expensive wardrobe choices? He spoke about this ‘first outing’ as if it would become a regular occurrence. What was I supposed to say? I must have typed and re-typed my message five times, striving to keep an impartial yet still polite tone. The best I could come up with after some teeth gnashing was:

_**Seems you’ve been quite thorough in your preparations for this evening. I’ll do my best to look presentable. So sorry Cara was unavailable.** _

I looked at the clock. 6:30. I had under a half an hour to get dressed and finish prepping before the car would arrive to drive me to Tom’s home. There was no time to sit around and deliberate about what else he would say, or if the dress would make me look like the Prosper prostitute I apparently was. I tossed my phone in the evening bag I’d selected earlier and went back into my bedroom to finish getting ready.

_Being dressed up by men. Just greeeeaaat._

Cutting the tags off the Lanvin and pulling out the Blahniks from their box, I took a deep breath and began dressing myself in my luxurious armor for the evening. After stretching, zipping, buckling, and smoothing, I took a final look in the mirror. The dress fit me like a glove – accentuating my body but keeping everything artfully hidden away.

The shoes added considerable height to my 5’6 frame; how tall was Tom again? Hopefully not tall enough that I felt intimidated.

Running fingers through the long waves I’d curled in my hair, I took a final look at my reflection before adorning my wrist with my watch and my ears with my diamond and pearl drops. They were the nicest things I owned; no one had bought them for me and I would never need to return them.

_If I’m to lose myself in all this madness, I’ll still have my jewelry. Such consolation._

Heading toward the door, I grabbed my bag, made sure the gala tickets and important information were carefully concealed inside, and meandered through my phone as I made my way to the waiting car out front. I had one more unread text message. Ensconced in the back seat of the Audi, I swiped to Tom’s latest message.

_**I asked Cara to take the night off. See you soon.** _

Never in my thirty-one years had I been as nervous as I was when the car finally pulled up to the gate outside Tom Hiddleston’s house. The fact that I’d never met the man, coupled with his gifts of roses and evening wear, ratcheted up my nerves to the point where seeing him striding to the car had my stomach feeling unbearably nauseated.

_You need to suck it up and do your job._ _This guy is a pretentious dick, remember? A pretentious dick who basically conned you into going to this gala tonight._

All thought was swiftly erased from my mind when the car door across from me opened and a tall, thin tuxedoed man folded himself into the backseat opposite me.

_Holy god._

Whatever I had been steeling myself for, I was not prepared for seeing this man’s face in person.

“Hello, Kate. May I call you Kate?” He held out a large, slim hand for me to shake. The smile on his face lit him up like a Christmas tree.

_Jesus Christ. Now I definitely don’t want to work with this guy. Fucking god among men, he is._

I held out my own hand and forced a tight smile, accepting his handshake and making my reply. “Of course you can, Mr. Hiddleston. If I’m to be ‘wrangling’ you this evening, I’d love for you to feel comfortable with me,” I answered. Pulling my hand away, I noticed I was shaking slightly.

“Now, darling,” there was that word again! “Please call me Tom. It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you in the _flesh_ ,” he enunciated, dropping his voice several octaves for the ‘flesh’ portion of his statement.

My nerves quickly fled in favor of mild disgust at Tom’s comment.

_Yep. Here comes. He goes from charming to smarmy in about two seconds. Gross._

I feigned a small laugh, ignoring his comment, and managed to redirect the conversation to our evening at hand, asking him about his patronage and whether he truly loved modern art or was just bandying his cash about.

“Oh, no. I’m a firm believer in the power of all artistic expression. My mother raised me to believe in the arts as noble and transformative to humanity,” he exclaimed. He seemed sincere; I had to admit it.

Further small talk involved where we would be exiting the car, at which point I was to guide Tom past the press line for a few photos. We would then venture into the main hall for the gala. It would be roughly three hours of moving Tom from one person to another, ensuring he was seen and was given face time with the Tate’s most important board members.

Just as the car stopped, Tom touched my arm lightly. I turned to face him, wondering if there was a problem. “I just want to tell you, Kate, that you look absolutely divine in that gown,” he murmured. “Please do let me escort you out of the car.”

I was too shocked to respond, so I waited obediently, to my chagrin, as Tom exited the Audi and walked around the back to open my door. Holding out a hand, he helped me out of the car, keeping his eyes on my face the entire time.

_Well, jerk level has been downgraded to three, for now._

What I wasn’t prepared for, despite all of my previous forays into the blind items, newspapers, and gossip blogs of the world, was the literal explosion of flash bulbs as I vacated the Audi and found myself with one hand in Tom Hiddleston’s palm, and the other clutching my evening bag and his shoulder. It was 7:15 in the evening and the lights made it feel like high noon.

“You alright?” he whispered. His face was dangerously close to mine. “I’ve got you.” He was looking into my eyes with concern, but I was fast becoming a pro at this media relations job of mine. Part of my duty was to make sure my clientele were talked about, not me. One more second right next to this man and I was going to have to admit I thought he was gorgeous. And then people would really have something to talk about when they saw it written on my face.

_Fuck that._

I mustered more confidence than I felt, flashed him the biggest smile I had, and separated myself from his grasp to lead the way to the press line. Perhaps the sway of my hips was exaggerated, perhaps it was the Lanvin dress, but the press seemed just as interested in my appearance as they were in my charge’s. I had been photographed with every other star we repped, but it was never like this. People were shouting my name. Photographers were shouting for us to stand together. Scrambling from the confusion, I herded Tom down the line so the cameramen could get their shots of him alone, striding down the way in his tailored Armani. I never remained far from him, but I kept an appropriate distance that discouraged any further shouts of “YOU TWO STAND TOGETHER! OVER HERE! PUT YOUR ARM AROUND HER!”

Oddly, Tom kept looking back to make sure I was there, never far behind. It gave me an odd sense of power and satisfaction.

_That’s right, you big successful man. You need me to tell you where to go!_

Feeling rather cheeky, I quickly grabbed a pen and a small sheet of paper I’d found stashed in my bag. At the last stop in the press line, several of the photographers got a straight shot of me, subtly posing in my Lanvin and holding the message I’d written in large letters on the scrap of paper. I was sure that from every angle, I had a huge smile on my face.

“What was all that commotion at the end about, darling?” Tom asked as we were finally ushered inside to the main hall of the Tate Modern. The entire floor had been transformed by linen-covered seating areas, wait staff carrying canapés and champagne glasses, and hundreds of people milling about in their finery.

“I was just reminding the press that I’m not the one needing photographed,” I laughed. Grabbing a flute of champagne, I nodded toward an empty seating area where I could brief Tom on who he needed to mingle with in the coming hours. As soon as we were seated, he leaned toward me as if he was about to tell me a secret.

“In that dress, Kate, it would be an absolute crime not to photograph you.” He winked.

_How can he switch that on and off so quickly?_

“I appreciate the compliment, Tom. But can I please ask you one thing? Can you stop calling me darling?” I whispered my request because many people had started noticing Tom Hiddleston had just joined the party. Several of the women in the room visibly started preening at the sight of him.

_Have at him, ladies. He’s textbook._

“Of course. It’s just a general term I use for lovely people that I meet,” he replied. Taking a swig of his champagne, he looked at me to gauge my reaction to his reasoning. I nodded, not wanting to seem demanding. “I understand, but it’s not very professional and it makes me uncomfortable,” I countered honestly. A shadow passed over Tom’s face so fast I wasn’t sure I actually saw it.

“Well, Kate, seeing you in that dress makes certain parts of _me_ very uncomfortable.” His voice had become a low growl.

I was stunned at how forward he was being, thrown on an uneven keel by his back-and-forth behavior. One minute he was playing the Prince Charming nearly everyone thought he was; the next, he was being lecherous or overtly sexual or just downright crass. I’d know him for all of an hour or two and he was already feeling liberal enough to explain to me how the clothes that he chose for me were affecting his dick.

_Un-fucking-believable. So this is why they call it work._

I’d had enough.

I got in his face. Quietly, but firmly, I let him have it.

“I’m going to point out some people here that you need to speak to and you have about two minutes to learn their names because as soon as you do, I am leaving to go look at some artwork and get away from your disgusting libido!”

To anyone watching us, it would have appeared that we were merely having an intense chat; he was watching me intently with a rather bemused look on his face, and I was doing my best to keep my expression calm and professional. When I had finished pointing out his designated board members, asking him if he had any other need of my services before I moved to another part of the gallery, he grabbed my arm gently and stepped right up to me, placing his mouth right next to my ear.

“No, _darling_.”

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

_**Michael “Just The Help”?** _

_**Daily Mail** _

_Fans of both Tom Hiddleston and Prosper UK’s newest hire Kate Michael were in for a treat last night when the two finally appeared together at a Tate Modern gala event, wherein Hiddleston was honored informally for his continued patronage to the historic art gallery._

_Working under Luke Windsor, Ms. Michael appeared to be more of a date for Hiddleston than a publicist for the evening. Sources say she was dressed in a runway collection Lanvin cocktail dress from last summer. Hardly an appropriate choice for someone who works as a PA._

_The 6’2 actor, clad in his go-to Giorgio Armani, helped his gorgeous assistant out of their car and appeared to keep a close hold on her down the press line._

_Hiddleston charmed photographers and fans alike before entering the Tate, stopping to pose on his way down the line and waving to well-wishers who had gathered outside hours before his arrival._

_As for Kate Michael, it was clear she was intent on dispelling any rumours of a potential romance with the_ Avengers _and_ Crimson Peak _actor._

_A cheeky Kate hastily scribbled a memo to the press after being encouraged to pose with her handsome client, holding up a placard that simply read: “JUST THE HELP, GUYS! NOT HIS DATE!”_


	4. Earned It, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate is forced to make a deal with Tom; smut ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm: mildly dubious consent, here, so you've been warned. Also, first smut I've ever written, so be nice. I agonized over this shit for hours. 
> 
> Send me comments, people. I like them. And eventually I will run out of ideas.

The clock at my bedside read 5:32 am. The previous time I’d checked it was around 4:45. After my phone signaled yet another incoming text message, I realized I wasn’t going to get any more sleep and resigned myself to staying awake. I was going to need to face whoever and whatever was on my phone.

Turning on the small lamp perched on the nightstand, I sat up and immediately winced at the pinch of soreness in my hips and thigh muscles. In the few hours of oblivion that sleep had brought me, I had forgotten. Now, the flurry of activity on my iPhone coupled with the tell-tale physical reminders had last evening’s events flooding back into my brain.

I scrolled through the unread texts, dread unfurling in my belly.

_**Goddamn, girl. You look SO good in that Lanvin! Shhh! News has pics of you and TH ALL OVER their site…** _

That one was Nic.

My device chimed as she sent another.

_**Are you up yet?! Have you seen Daily Mail??** _

I ignored her and kept scrolling. Luke was apparently reading the same things Nicole was. He had sent three in quick succession.

_**I see you did your job quite well last night, Yank. Going above and beyond with your professionalism, according to the Daily Mail.** _

_**If you thought that little missive to the press would stave off their interest in you, you’re quite wrong!** _

_**Did you get the info from Tom that I asked for? Know it was last minute…sorry.** _

Luke’s query fired up nausea in my stomach, reminding me that I had indeed gotten some information from Tom last evening.

_Among other things._

As if I had summoned the demon himself from hell, my phone lit up with one more message from the man himself. Was I finally going to be fired? Luke's messages had given no indication of anything being amiss; maybe I was overreacting. Maybe Tom was going to apologize...

I hesitantly swiped to his message, color flooding my face upon reading the contents.

_**I think I'd like to work with you again. You suit my tastes. Would you like these back, or should I send them to Luke?** _

And just then he sent a photo of my crumpled, lacy black underwear from the night before. He'd kept them.

The recollection of just what had happened during and after the Tate gala had me scrambling out of bed, making it to the toilet just in time to dry heave into the bowl. I hadn’t eaten enough; there was nothing to regurgitate. After a few seconds of useless gagging, I flushed and ran a small hand towel under some cold water. Holding it against my face and neck, I slumped to the floor beside the bathroom sink and focused on calming my noticeably erratic breathing as all the unpleasantness of the last several hours settled over me.

I had spent the rest of the gala ignoring my duties, making small talk with various partygoers and wandering from collection to collection, sipping chilled Veuve Clicquot brut and trying to examine the appeal of modern art. It wasn’t to my taste, much like Tom’s rudeness and the obvious red rose trick weren’t to my taste; the Impressionists were always more to my liking. I appreciated the soft, muted colors. The calming scenes of water lilies, haystacks, and sunlight-drenched cathedrals were so much more…beautiful and accessible to me than the odd shapes and lines of Picassos and Dalis. But I could still appreciate the care and intensity of the Surrealists.

Meandering through the main hall after working my way through the collections, I found that Tom, to my non-surprise, was appreciating not the _art_ , but as many human female forms as he could lay eyes and hands on.

_Of course._

I had seen this behavior before, albeit not in person. It was proof of my suspicions that he was a womanizing lothario with no regard for people’s feelings. Trust fund boy grows into millionaire playboy actor and sets out to charm every living woman he can have access to. All in the name of “art.” Or whatever he called his profession.

The professor in me was disappointed at this man’s chosen life path. From what biographical information I’d gleaned about Hiddleston, I knew he had been a bright and driven student, headed straight for greatness courtesy of the hallowed halls of Cambridge. He’d read Greek, Latin, and literature and emerged unscathed with a double first. I would have killed to work with students who possessed minds like Tom’s. But he had eschewed his intellect for popularity and fame. Wasted potential.

It was clearly written on his face, however, that he thought he’d made the right choice. A trio of women, tall and thin and impossibly beautiful, were surrounding him as he flirted and touched shoulders and prattled on about God only knew what. And, per the usual, the blond, redhead, and brunette were all buying it. Every word. I moved closer to try and eavesdrop on their conversation, but Tom caught my movements immediately and gave me away instantly.

“Ah, Miss Michael,” he drawled, simpering at me as the women continued to fawn all over him. “Would you mind terribly getting some more champagne for these three lovely ladies?”

Like I was a slave. Well, I was a slave – to my client at hand – just not to Dopey, Slutty, and Vapid.

_For fuck’s sake._

Instead of throwing a fit at Tom’s presumption that I worked for him as some sort of “wing woman”, I brusquely signaled one of the catering attendants for three more flutes of champagne and promptly brought them over to the ladies-in-waiting. The stare I leveled at Tom only made him smile in delight.

“Kate, may I introduce – “ he began.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your little party, Mr. Hiddleston, but I’ve received instructions to gather you as we have some other business to attend to this evening,” I rattled off, irritated at his mirth. It wasn’t a total lie. I had received word from Luke shortly after Tom and I had separated that there were some signed contracts I needed to fetch – and I had to get them from Tom’s office at his house. Luke told me not to rush, but I knew these contracts were urgent and would hold up certain opportunities if Luke didn’t have them in a timely manner. Besides, if I had to witness any more of this man’s charming gentleman act, I was going to have it out with him in a very unprofessional, very public manner. And I had a job to keep.

Seeing that I was serious about the request, Tom made a long show of thanking each of the three women for the lovely evening, kissing them on cheeks and hugging them as if he’d just been reunited with long-lost childhood friends. I waited patiently, but inside I was seething, for two reasons. Obviously I was mad that he’d made me nothing more than wait staff in front of people – for other people!

But I was also alarmingly jealous.

As soon as that thought presented itself, I grabbed Tom by the arm and practically marched him out of the building, making our thanks to the hosts and partygoers who bid us good evening on the way out. He didn’t speak until we were ensconced in the Audi.

“Was that really necessary, Kate?” he narrowed his eyes at me, eyes which seemed to glitter at my discomfort and annoyance.

I turned abruptly in my seat and pointed a finger right at his face.

“My job is to make sure you’re seen and heard doing _good_ things for _good_ causes when you’re not filming. It’s bad enough that I have to look after YOU with your flirting and attempts to bed every woman you come into contact with. You just made it WORSE by assuming I’m some sort of _femme maître d'_ who does your bidding JUST SO YOU CAN GET OFF!”

I was screaming. Professional, I was not. I wasn’t sure at what point the driver had chosen to start the car and head back to Hampstead.

“Well, darling,” he started.

I spat at his use of that word again.

“You work for Luke, and Luke instructed you to work _with_ me this evening. But seeing as you abandoned me for the majority of the gala, I had to make my own fun, didn’t I?”

I scoffed, looking away from him out the window as we left Bankside. He continued the conversation.

“Now what was this about other business to attend to this evening? Does Luke really need something, or did you just want to get me alone?”

_The absolute nerve of this man!_

“You wish, Hiddleston!” I responded. “There are two contracts in your possession that I’m to retrieve for Luke, which will expedite your work on that ridiculous _King Kong_ travesty you’re hoping to headline. If you would be so kind as to fetch them for me, then I can be on my way home at a reasonable hour.”

“Oh but darling, what fun is getting home at a _reasonable_ hour? Why don’t you let me give you a tour of my home? I’ll get the contracts, you can look at my bookshelves…I have quite the collection to interest a professor of literature like yourself,” he sneered. “Or – wait, that was your _old_ job, wasn’t it? You left that behind to cater to the likes of me, didn’t you? To work as a dolled-up _whore_ for -”

Irony itself timed our arrival at Tom’s residence just as my hand slapped across his face.

He was as shocked as I was, staring at me in disbelief after he’d recovered his composure. I was shaking in rage and disbelief, one hand pressed to my mouth at the fact that I’d just hit the talent.

_I’m going to be fired. Oh fuck. All of that money right back to Luke._

Tom was out of the car fast as a lightning strike, ripping open my door and hauling me out of the Audi with force – not enough to hurt, but enough to frighten me. Enough to let me know who was really in control of the situation. Before I could say a word, he dismissed the driver, leaving me stranded alone with him.

“If you want those contracts for Luke, you’d best follow me into this house and do exactly as I say,” he murmured. Though his voice was low, it carried with it a hint of threat. I had no choice but to follow him through the gate, staring at my Manolos and struggling to keep up with Tom’s long strides. He ushered me into his foyer, closing the door loudly behind me. Running a hand through his hair and loosening his bowtie, he turned to me with eyes dancing and a leer on his face.

_Shit._

“If you would be so kind, Miss Michael, wait for me in the kitchen, just down the hallway there. I’ll be bringing the contracts in a moment.” When I hesitated, he took my face in both of his large hands, tilting my chin up until my eyes met his. Even in the throes of his anger and annoyance, the bastard was gorgeous. I swallowed thickly.

“Go. NOW,” he whispered.

I broke free of his grasp and walked, as courageously as I could, down the hallway to his small kitchen. My mind was reeling – I had just slapped a client, I was alone in his home with no ride back to my apartment…

_Didn’t dad always warn you about getting yourself into a bad situation alone with someone? You idiot._

I didn’t have to wait long, as the sound of Tom dropping two sheaths of paper on his kitchen table startled me back into the present. When I went to reach for them, he stopped me.

“Oh _no_ , Kate. Not yet. We’re going to do a little…exchange,” he smiled, moving closer to where I stood. “You see, you’ve been a very naughty girl this evening. Leaving me alone at the gala, practically causing a scene in a hired car. Even striking me,” he purred. “I wonder what Luke would say if I told him how _far out of compliance_ you’ve been tonight?”

I gasped quietly, my worst fears confirmed.

_I’m going to be fired._

Tom was walking toward me, crowding me in the tight quarters of his kitchen. I found myself backed up against one of the counters.

“Hop up on the counter, sweet girl,” Tom smirked at me, leaning forward until our noses were practically touching. “Or I’ll call him right now and start talking.”

_Goddammit._

I tried to beg my way out of the situation, anxiety at what was about to happen turning me into a stuttering mess.

“Tom, I don’t think this is a–appropriate…right now,” I faltered. I could smell the cologne he wore; I could feel the waves of heat coming off of his tall frame. “I’m in a short dress and it’s so expense–expensive…and I’m so sorry I slapped you,” I babbled. I was silenced when his long, thin fingers wrapped around my waist and lifted me up onto his counter, swiftly plopping me down so that I was at his eye level. In my rush to steady myself from falling forward, I clutched at his shoulders.

“Ohh, that’s perfect, Kate,” he drawled, looking at the placement of my hands. “Why don’t you put your arms around my neck, lovely?”

He no longer sounded threatening, but rather…aroused. His dilated pupils and the flush creeping along his neck were proof. Despite the amorous look he was now throwing me, I was confused, still, at where this was going.

“T–Tom, what are you doing? Why are you telling me to – ”

He placed a finger on my lips, shushing me. When I made to remove my hands from his shoulders and get down from the counter, trying to bat him away, he surged forward, forcing himself to stand between my now spread thighs. His hands returned to cup my face, much as they had earlier in his foyer, and he began speaking in low, dulcet syllables.

“I believe I mentioned earlier that if you want those contracts and you want to leave here at your _reasonable hour_ , Miss Michael, you’re going to do exactly as I tell you.”

Shifting himself further toward me, still clad in that Armani tux, Tom forced my thighs open wider without saying a word. I was beginning to freak out, my heart racing and my limbs shaking. And yet, the timbre of his voice when he spoke again had me yearning to close my eyes; the sound was soothing, enveloping me in warmth. It completely belied the inappropriate things he was asking me to do.

“Put your arms around my neck, sweet girl.”

I did as he asked, feeling the corded muscle of his neck, cupping one hand into the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Look in my eyes, sweet girl,” he crooned. He placed his warm hands on my knees, and smiled what seemed to be a genuine smile as my green eyes met his blue ones.

“Your breathing is rushed, Kate. I can see the delicate little pulse fluttering in your neck. Your pupils are blown so wide…” he continued, beginning to stroke small circles with his fingertips on the tops of my knees. I couldn’t look away. Even if I had wanted to, his warmth, his voice, his soft hands and handsome face were flooding me with pleasure.

“I’ll be happy to give you the contracts, love, if you would just do _one_ other thing for me,” he murmured. As he said this, he leaned forward to place a small kiss on my forehead. I practically sighed at the sweetness of his gesture. But I wasn’t prepared for his last request.

“I want you to sit here, in my kitchen, on my counter, and you’re going to let me slide off your panties and get your little pussy nice and wet, sweet girl. You’re going to spread your legs wide for me, almost obscenely wide, and let me put my fingers inside of you. You’re going to stare at me while I rub your slick little button, and then you’re going to come all over my fingers.”

My breath hitched. Still I held on to him. He had worked his hands up under the skirt of the Lanvin, and was carefully peeling down the scrap of black lace covering my sex.

“If you remove your hands from around my neck, if you look away,” he tugged at my underwear to signal I needed to lift up, “or if you don't come, you leave here without those contracts and I call Luke to request your termination effective _immediately_.”

My panties found their way into the pocket of his dress pants. He was still fully clothed except for an undone bowtie and one shirt button popped open. I would have capitulated at everything he was saying but I was too focused on the promise of pleasure his delectable voice gave me. I had become the very woman I claimed to loathe: a woman involved with Tom Hiddleston. In no less than a handful of hours after meeting him.

“Do we have a deal, Kate?” He asked this question just as his hands returned to my inner thighs and his right thumb made contact with my pussy, swiping its way up from my entrance to rest atop my clit; I exhaled shakily as he pushed slightly, my mind clouding from the immediately pleasurable pressure.

“Oh my dear girl,” Tom purred, “you’re already so swollen and slick for me, aren’t you?” He pulled his hand away from my weeping body and out from under my dress, bringing his thumb up to his mouth. I watched, rapt yet also horrified, as he snaked his tongue around his thumb, eyes closing as he licked away the traces of my arousal. The act sent me into overload, my body pouring forth a sticky trickle between my legs, surely pooling all over his counter. I found I no longer cared. Tightening one of my hands into the hair above his collar and splaying the other along his broad back, I tipped my head back to rest on the cabinetry behind me and regarded him with hooded lids, the words tumbling out of my mouth.

“God, _yes_. Do it. We have-“ I gasped as he cupped the back of my head with one hand and gently but deliberately plunged two fingers of his other hand into me, grunting at my wanton display.

“-a deal…ughh. _FUCK_.” I groaned helplessly.

His long fingers were slowly but surely moving, and I had a hard time keeping my eyes on his.

“Don’t you dare look away from me, Kate,” he rasped. His hold on the back of my neck tightened and I watched as he eyed my mouth, licking his lips and exhaling harshly. “I’m going to kiss you, sweet girl. I’m going to stand here and finger fuck you and swallow your moans and cries and you’re going to beg me to let you come,” he whispered, his mouth nearing mine.

And as he started curling his fingers, sliding them in and out of my slick heat, his mouth captured my own. The kiss was the complete antithesis of what his fingers were doing: he was sweet, and gentle, and I felt myself melting further into his touch, relaxing under his ministrations. But I knew in the back of my mind that I wouldn’t meet the last term of his deal – an orgasm – if he was going by penetration alone. And I needed to keep my end of the deal, knowing even as I thought those words that I wanted to keep my end more out of a desperate need to come than to keep my job. I spoke softly against his kiss, keening as he rubbed a particularly sensitive spot along my inner walls. My muscles clenched down onto those impossibly long fingers.

“Tom?” I sighed his name.

“Yes, sweet girl?” He rested his forehead against mine, searching my eyes for signs of an impending climax. His brow furrowed when he found none, despite the pulsing of my pelvic muscles.

“I c–can’t come like th–this,” I was starting to shake and tears were springing into my eyes. Whether it was frustration or shame at having to ask him for something I never imagined I’d want from him, I didn’t know. Not breaking eye contact, he carefully pulled his fingers out of my pussy and began stroking my throbbing clit, smiling as he felt my hands tighten across his back and neck. He rubbed insistent, soft circles around the soaked little bud, and my legs began to quiver. My reactions worsened when he began talking again in that sinful tone of his, never stopping those tight circles.

“My sweet little Kate, all wet and open for me. I bet you’re dripping down my countertop, aren’t you, baby? Is this what you needed, love?” he purred. I wanted to close my eyes so badly but knew I’d forfeit the deal we made. I clenched my teeth and stared into his shining eyes. The smirk and raised eyebrow only served to make him more handsome and I groaned in bliss.

“Yes, sweet girl. Tell me.”

“God _damn_ , Tom… _shit_ ,” I breathed, my hips rolling in time with his slickened fingertips. My hold on him was causing my fingers to cramp but I wasn’t about to loosen up. He continued his verbal barrage, the hand on the back of my neck now moving down to the skirt of the Lanvin to hike it even further up my body.

“You are magnificent like this, love,” he breathed. “Using my fingers to find your pleasure, arms wrapped around me.” He never broke eye contact. I wanted to slap him again. I wanted to kiss him again.

With my hips still riding his hand, the rising pleasure suddenly caused me to become greedy and brave. Decorum was out the window for me, and I was very close to coming. I yanked the hair at the back of his neck and craned his head back to a slightly uncomfortable angle. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second.

_If I’m doing this, I’m doing it my way._

“I want to come in your mouth,” I panted, shoving him down onto his knees – but never releasing him from my stare or my hold. It was a challenge, and one I threw down knowing full well than a man like him was always after his own pleasure. And while he was feeling “generous” enough to pleasure me with his fingers, he was most likely the type to feel entitled to oral but wary of giving it.

He surprised me.

Throwing off his tux jacket and yanking the sleeves of the dress shirt up his arms, he pulled away from my hold but never broke the gaze between us. Licking his lips, it took him all but a few seconds to haul my legs over his shoulders, yank my hands to the back of his head, and press his mouth and tongue into my dripping sex.

I screamed. I called to the gods above. I finally settled on murmuring his name over and over again, like a prayer. It only served to make him groan in return, pulling back just slightly from my clutches so I could watch his tongue swirl around and around my clit. Watch it lap up and down at the cream I was producing for him. I was right there – right on the edge – when he pulled back a fraction of an inch.

“Don’t you dare look away when you come, sweet girl,” he rasped. “Watch me fuck you with my mouth. Watch me lick up all of your lust for me.” He redoubled his efforts. And then he slammed two fingers back inside of me, latching his lips around my clit and sucking fiercely.

I was gone. Keening, making unintelligible noises, riding his mouth and breathing so heavily I was in danger of passing out. I managed to keep watching him, slack-jawed as he drew the orgasm out until I was a shaking, writhing mess, pushing at him to stop. When he finally did, he stood, wiping his mouth and hands, and tenderly picked me up off the counter to place me on my feet in front of him.

I smoothed out my dress, trying to still my shaking legs. Blushing furiously, I looked away from him, fiddling with my hair until he broke the awkward silence by clearing his throat. He strode to the table to retrieve the contracts, holding them out to me with an odd look on his face.

I took him in, in his entirety: disheveled hair, chin still glistening slightly in the dim kitchen light. His face had a slightly sheepish look about it; he seemed unsure of what to do next. With his shirt sleeves hastily rolled up to his forearms and his shoes still on, he had the desperate air of a man so incredibly turned on that he hadn’t had time to remove his clothes. I found this idea unbearably hot.

And then my gaze stopped at the prominent bulge in his trousers.

_So it’s true that he goes commando._

The thought made me blush. Despite everything that had just happened, it seemed I was still very capable of embarrassment. I charged on ahead anyway, trying to keep my eyes on his. “I’ve fulfilled my portion of the deal, Mr. Hiddleston,” I whispered. I took the contracts from his grasp and turned away to call a car service for a pickup back to my apartment. Walking back down the hallway toward the corridor on trembling legs, I heard him following after me quite briskly. The volume of his voice next to my ear startled me.

“Oh it’s _Mister Hiddleston_ again, is it?” He seemed angry.

I turned around to see his previously-aroused face now looking thunderous.

_This man has more mood swings than my teenage niece. Ugh. Just keep it together until you can get in the car._

“Excuse me?” I queried, backing toward the door.

“I had my fingers and tongue in your soaked cunt not FIVE minutes ago and you’re suddenly all meek and shy and ‘Mister Hiddleston’ to me?” The anger had morphed into shouting.

_What the fuck?_

“You made a deal, I accepted your terms, and now hopefully I can keep my job. _Sir_.” I sneered. Who did he think he was, bribing me into a sexual situation so I could keep my job waiting on him – hopefully not him – hand and fucking foot? “I’m not sure why you’re so angry with me right now.”

“Tell me, Miss Michael,” he spat, “do you like being the resident _whore_ for Prosper?”

By the time that word had fallen from his lips, I was wrenching open his front door to head outside and just hail a taxi. This was ridiculous. It was abuse, plain and simple. He followed me out the door.

“Did this mean NOTHING to you, then?” He was practically foaming at the mouth, trailing me down his walkway.

_Oh. So this was about his EGO. Of course it was. How could I forget?_

“Mr. Hiddleston, this definitely means _something_ to me,” I hissed back into the darkness toward him. “It means I get to keep my job, with your contracts in my hand. It means I don’t have to be fired for insubordination,” I could feel tears welling in my eyes. I spoke my final words to him as I hit the sidewalk, eyeing a taxi and raising my arm to catch the cabbie’s attention. Turning back to face him one last time, I let him have it. The sneer on my face was real.

“And it means that _I got you on your knees_.”


	5. Earned It, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damage control time…and lots of revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is long as HELL. I'm sorry. (Not really.) Nothing too NSFW here, but I'm super excited about all the sexy, angsty tension.
> 
> Anybody still with me?

_**I think I'd like to work with you again. You suit my tastes. Would you like these back, or should I send them to Luke?** _

I must have read the text and looked at my pathetic, crumpled panties in the picture at least five times. This was a direct warning from Tom that unless I complied with his wishes about “working together” again, he would get to Luke before I could even get dressed for work. Whatever _working together_ meant.

_Is this even worth it?_

The weight of current events was crushing; I’d stepped into an unknown world and made a narcissistic declaration that, despite all my bravado, was quickly going down in flames. Did I really think that a PhD in Victorian Literature was suitable enough to wrangle a spoiled, silver spoon-fed actor with an enormous ego?

_Never mind that other enormous part of his anatomy. Jesus._

I was made for book talks, writing journal articles, lecturing on the merits of the Bronte sisters and Dickens’ outlandish characters. The rush of summer fun during my vacation to England had made me reckless, brash – impressed with myself – and Luke Windsor sought to capture my idiocy and capitalize on it. He’d given me my due: throwing me into this chaotic sea without a life preserver to see if I would sink or swim. He was just doing as I asked, after all. And he had the legal documentation to prove it.

I’d been swimming well, metaphorically, conserving energy for a long game that could have lasted well beyond the year I’d bet upon. Prosper’s talent loved me; I brought a fresh face to the media game, an outside perspective. But as soon as I found myself involved with a certain 6’2, classically trained rogue, I sank like a stone. And now that very man sought to pull me under indefinitely, drowning me.

By the time I’d showered and prepared my day bag for work, I had decided that my only option was to march into Luke’s office and quit. Lay bare the entire ordeal I’d been through – willingly and not so willingly – and begin a lifetime of financial hardship as I repaid Prosper UK for every shoe, bangle, and shift dress currently in my ownership. I wondered, ironically, if Luke would refund me the price of a pair of Victoria’s Secret panties that his golden boy had stolen from me. Probably not.

_If you were a Dickensian character, you’d be sent to the poorhouse to recoup your losses._

Knowing my last glamorous day was ahead of me, I left my apartment donning a very masculine Alexander McQueen crossover pencil dress – it made me feel strong in its shape and fabric. There was no flirtatiousness about the garment. Clean lines, squared shoulders. For what I was about to endure, I’d need every bit of self-worth and dignity I could muster. The shoes I chose for my final, humiliating confrontation were selected with much the same idea: Giuseppi Zanotti Lilith sandals gave me additional height and had a savage beauty in their style. If today was it, and there could be no doubt it was – I was going down _in grand style_.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

_Breathe. This will all be over in seconds._

I repeated this mantra as I clacked my way directly to Luke’s inner sanctum. On the Tube ride to work, I’d had time to ruminate about just how, exactly, I would start my “pitch” to the boss man. It was a pitch, wasn’t it? That’s what this public relations world consisted of – pitch, and spin, and someone’s words against someone else’s. I knew time was valuable and I had precious little of it left before Tom decided to inform Luke of our activities from the previous evening.

While I hadn’t been extremely accommodating during the gala, I’d done everything Tom asked once we’d arrived at his home – literally _everything_. Technically, I’d broken no part of my contract or any of the spontaneous rules Tom saw fit to impose upon me during our heated exchan–

_Oh, fuck me._

What had that one stipulation of my Prosper contract said?

“Will NOT get involved personally with Prosper UK clientele and will maintain a professional working distance and attitude from talent at all times”

Let’s see. That’s three strikes against Kate Michael: Face-fucking the talent definitely counted as personal involvement. The professional working distance had been swiftly closed when I dragged Tom from the Tate, as well as when I slapped him in the Audi. And as for the professional attitude?

_I got you on your knees._

Sneering at my client with my panties in his pocket? I’m complete toast.

By the time I reached Luke’s doorway, I was silently berating myself for wearing black instead of white.

_Then you could have thrown yourself around on the floor like a flag in surrender._

Holding up one finger at me as I ushered myself in, Luke continued the conversation on his phone, brows knitted, visibly stressed. Something had happened. And that something was probably fucking Tom Hiddleston calling Luke to gleefully report that I had erred in the most serious way(s) possible.

_Even if he did force you to let him violate you. And you liked it! Christ, that’s demented. What kind of sick person are you?_

I was broken from my fretting as Luke slammed his phone onto the desk in front of him.

_Here it comes. Back to teaching undergrads about thesis statements._

“Well, Yankee, I’ve just been on the phone with Tom.”

_Yup. Tell me something I don’t know._

“It appears there’s been a problem,” Luke sighed, staring straight at me. I flushed, feeling prickles of heat crawling up my neck.

“Luke, can I just say,” I breathed, trying not to cry. “I just want to get this off my chest before–“

“I’m so sorry to rush this, Kate,” he interrupted. “Tom’s gotten himself into a bit of a tight spot with his, ehm, _extracurricular activities_ lately and the press is having an absolute fucking field day.”

My vision swam.

_Oh my god the PRESS knows about this? I bet that fucking bastard is selling me out to every tabloid in the country just to make sure I’m well and truly sacked!_

“He’s on the receiving end of some strong criticism for supposedly starting a relationship with his very recently married co-star,” Luke continued. My vision returned to sharp focus and I shot Luke a confused look.

“Is that what he’s calling you about?” I squeaked. Luke looked as puzzled as I felt.

“Yes, Yank. Now, knowing Tom, he’s probably gotten caught with his belt unbuckled again. I swear I clean up after that boy’s messes more than his mother probably did when he was a child.”

I kept looking for a pause in Luke’s diatribe but it never came. He was babbling on with growing intensity and before I knew it, some sort of plan was being hatched. “So, we really need to divert attention away from his behavior right now. He was calling me to sort of cushion the blow – he’s become a pro at it by now, that rascal – and out of nowhere he suggests you as a solution to this recurring problem he is, I mean, has.” He held out his hands to me in entreaty. I swallowed thickly. Where was he going with this? And what interest did Tom have in bringing me on board with him again after what I’d said? What we’d done?

_Never mind that he was playing the oh-so cunning linguist with you while supposedly screwing someone else on the side._

“He’s on his way here and we’re going to go into the board room to look at some of the latest press clippings and figure out what our next strategy is,” Luke informed me matter-of-factly. There was that nervous feeling of doom in my stomach again. Tom was coming here? I would have to see him again? Be in the same room with him again? After convincing myself that I would be out of a job and free of all this mess?

“Sounds so official…going to the board room,” I supplied, laughing weakly.

_Why are you not resigning and running out of here, girl?!_

“Yeah, we rarely use it. Makes me feel super important when we do, though,” Luke grinned. “Bring your iPad if you would so we can look at what’s being said and determine how best to approach a response.” He motioned for me to gather my things and follow him down to the opposite end of the main floor. I followed, robotically.

_Guess I’m not leaving yet._

By the time I’d sat down in the conference room, Luke was tossing out random sites I needed to Google, saying things like “Just Jared”, “Celebitchy”, “Lainey Gossip” and “DListed”. I had no idea what any of these sites were, but all of them had plenty of idea who Tom Hiddleston was, and who he may or may not have been carousing with. Thankfully my name didn’t appear anywhere in those salacious write-ups. But while we waited for the man of the moment to appear, I stumbled upon a smaller news article, tucked away from the gossip sites, and my name did appear in connection with Tom’s.

_**Shhh! News** _

_**And The Award Goes To…** _

_Tom Hiddleston and Prosper UK’s Kate Michael for cutest non-couple who should be a couple._

There was a gorgeous photograph of the two of us, fresh out of the car at the Tate gala, right before we’d walked down the press line to enter the building. The picture was evidently taken during an unguarded moment right as Tom helped me out of the car: my hand was elegantly held in his outstretched palm, and his other hand was cradled around my elbow in a protective, steadying gesture. My head was tilted at an angle, smile on my face, seemingly nodding at something he’d just said. I assumed this was when he’d asked if I was alright. The words that followed that question reverberated in my mind.

_“I’ve got you.”_

It unsettled me how good we looked together. Granted, we were both trussed up and polished within an inch of our lives, but it wasn’t what we were wearing – it was the body language, almost shouting out in transparency. He looked every bit the protective man, yes. But there was something else in his face. It wasn’t quite…concern. He had been concerned that I was safe and not overwhelmed when the flashbulbs started going off. But no…not concern. A voice broke my concentration.

“Hi, man. Sorry about this.” I looked up just in time to see Tom, moving toward the chair furthest from me, as he spoke in my general direction.

“Morning, Miss Michael.” Polite, but curt. When I looked up from my iPad, temporarily shutting it off so Luke and Tom wouldn’t see what I’d been looking at, I responded in the same measured tone.

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.” I gave a small smile. I’d forgotten why I was mad at him, why I’d barged into Luke’s office, what this man could potentially do with my life and career…I was just trying to place the emotion on his face in that picture. I functioned on auto-pilot for most of the impromptu meeting, only half-listening to Tom explaining himself to Luke, to Luke chastising Tom half-heartedly (it seemed they’d done this before), and to the both of them scouring the news outlets for extraneous details of Tom’s latest dalliance. Unbeknownst to them, I had unlocked my iPad and was still staring at the _Shhh! News_ photo. My frustration continued to mount when I couldn’t pin down what else was in Tom’s face.

_For an actor, his emotions are laid bare in this picture. It’s all right there. But what IS it?_

The longer I looked at it, the more perturbed I became. I was angry at what had happened the previous night, yes, but I was also upset with myself for letting things get so out of hand – I should have already been packing my things. Returning stateside. I was also getting angry at the back and forth currently playing out between my boss and my aggravating client.

“We could issue a denial.”

“I could just ignore everything and go about my business.”

“That won’t work.”

This commentary continued in much the same fashion until I quietly cleared my throat and both men looked at me pointedly. I slid my iPad toward them, simply saying, “Gentlemen, read.”

They did, both of their brows raising as they absorbed the information. I continued.

“It seems that people find the idea of Tom and me to be pleasing,” I murmured. “And if the photo is to be believed, especially seeing as it was taken in a genuinely unguarded moment, there could potentially be some…believable chemistry.” Luke nodded.

“I see what you’re saying. You’re suggesting we stage a relationship to divert attention away from Tom’s indiscretion, correct?”

The word relationship went too far for my liking. I nodded to seem acquiescing to Luke, but edited his idea slightly.

“Yes, I think taking the focus off of what he’s done lately would be wise. He and I go someplace public to be seen, people notice this repartee between us, and the narrative changes,” I nodded. “It doesn’t need to be a relationship, I don’t think. Just an outing that establishes a connection,” I finished. Tom slid my iPad back to me. He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t looked at Luke. Hadn’t looked at me.

“Well, I’m sold,” exclaimed Luke. He was packing up his things in a quick manner that suggested this all-important “board meeting” was about to end. “I’m going to go make a couple of quick calls and you two can sit here and iron out the particulars of this arrangement. I have more important things to do than fix your mistakes, Tom.”

And suddenly I was alone – again – with Tom Hiddleston. He broke the silence first, clearing his throat and looking at me.

“That’s a lovely photo they’ve taken, isn’t it?” He was staring right in my eyes, sounding for all the world like he was calm and collected. But I could see him fidgeting with his hands under the table. Nervous energy. I nodded, looking down at the photo again and smiling.

“It certainly is.”

“Well, I’m not going to waste your time, Kate. You seem to have this situation all figured out, so if you could just tell me where and when we should carry out this charade, that would be wonderful. I have a radio interview I need to get to soon.”

I was slightly hurt at the brusqueness of his tone, at the way he’d changed from admiring the picture to shutting down, being nothing but business.

_Remember that this man can ruin you – even more than he did last evening._

Judging by the fact I was still in the building, it was clear that today wasn’t my last day working at Prosper, so in that moment I did what I’d always promised Luke I would do: I worked as a PA, as a publicist, as a media darling. I suggested to Tom that we go on an outing that emphasized my interests, making him seem less focused on himself and more accommodating of me. If a meal was involved, fine. If not, no big deal. We didn’t have to see a show, or go to a club. Call a few photo agencies, look suitably pleasant toward one another, give a few tactile touches here and there, and done. And he would be back in everyone’s good graces.

_As always._

I looked at him expectantly to see if he was going to shoot down my plan, or agree, or say anything at all – but he was just staring.

“What?” I was trying to mask my irritation. He had all the power to end me. I could see him swallow.

“Why are you doing this for me, Kate?” He quirked an eyebrow and folded his hands together on the tabletop.

I took a moment to answer, choosing my response carefully. Had he asked me that question last night, or first thing this morning, I would have responded snarkily along the lines of “Because it’s sad that everyone probably thinks you’re gay, ah-ha-ha!“ but I was already overstepping my boundaries with him as it was. And after what went, ahem, down last evening, gay was pretty much out of the question.

“Because it’s my job.” And that was the truth. Just not the _whole_ truth. I didn’t reveal the part about seeing something between us in that pre-gala picture. We’d only just met as that photograph was taken, but the ease with which we interacted…was unsettling to me. I looked delighted. And he looked…I still couldn’t place it.

“Well, I do appreciate your help. I’m afraid this isn’t the first time I’ve found myself in a precarious situation like this,” he said plainly. No trace of shame, just blatant honesty.

_I bet._

We finished the conversation by deciding on a quick trip to the Eye, followed by coffee if need be. It was one of the few “tourist” things I hadn’t done, and I was actually somewhat excited at the prospect of crossing something else off my London to-do list. On a whim, I thanked him for agreeing to the venue of our “arrangement.”

“I appreciate you going along with what I’m suggesting, Mr. Hid–“

“Can you please just call me Tom? Christ,” he grimaced. I noticed he was holding something balled up in his hand. “As I said last night, I’ve been on…intimate terms with you so drop the ceremony, please. You were happy to say my given name many times, if I recall.”

Again, I wanted to reply with something spiteful, in reference to those intimate terms we’d been on. But I couldn’t muster any anger this morning. He was attempting to be polite, to go along with our plan. He hadn’t ratted me out to Luke. And then I noticed something.

_He’s holding your balled-up lingerie in his fist._

“Am I getting those back, or…?” I mused aloud. I tried to fight the blush that was seeping through my pores, but to no avail.

_Be strong. You’re sticking your neck out for him and the least he can do is be civil about things._

He stood up and walked over to my seat, and gently tossed the underwear onto the table in front of me.

“Consider us even, for now. I’ll come collect you later this evening after I’ve cleared some things off my schedule, and we’ll be on our way.” The conference room door closed before I could reply.

 

___________________________________________________________________________________________

Dressing for myself, and sometimes for work, was one thing – but dressing for a fake “date” with one of the most popular actors in the world, who was currently staring down the barrel of some serious (true) rumors about his private life was another thing altogether. I had been photographed before, many times standing to the side of my various charges at their conventions, red carpet appearances, and interviews. This time I was to be photographed as if I was as important as the person I was with.

_These pictures have to look real, Kate. As if there’s something going on between the two of you._

But something had gone on between us. In private, yes. But also for the world to see, as I got out of a car and into his arms at the Tate. There was indisputable photographic evidence of something.

I chose a comfortable but stylish ensemble, pairing dark skinny jeans with a lace camisole and loose cardigan that enveloped me in a feeling of soft security. Knowing we would be walking, potentially standing inside one of the Eye pods for a full 30-minute revolution, I opted for flats. I couldn’t be worrying about tripping in heels or having a skirt malfunction while also worrying about having my picture taken from every angle. Confidence would be key.

Donning my jewelry and placing my wallet in an oversize bag, I was about to toss my phone in when it chimed. The lock screen revealed a text from Tom.

_**On my way.** _

The message was so basic that I didn’t bother to respond. He was viewing this as I should have viewed it – a job. A duty. An unpleasant task to be carried out in service of the greater good (even if the greater good was the shallowness of the entertainment world). But the _Shhh! News_ article and photo kept reasserting themselves in my brain. Could he not see that thing that was between us in the photo? Was I imagining it? Was he really that good of an actor, perhaps leading me into a false sense of genuine emotion on his part? These thoughts nagged at me all the way down in the elevator, through the lobby, and into the back of the waiting Jaguar.

“Evening, Kate.” He barely looked up from his phone, where he was rapidly texting someone a series of what looked to be lengthy messages.

“Hey, Tom,” I said, somewhat offended that he didn’t bother to look in my general direction. I watched quizzically as he continued to tap away at his iPhone.

“Sorry about this, it’ll only take a second,” he murmured. “I’m just talking with Luke about some last minute things to make sure we’re all set for our little outing.”

_Oh. Yeah._

It made sense, him needing to confirm that we would be photographed where Luke had sent the photogs. Knowing Luke, he also would have called ahead to the Eye to make sure we could have a pod to ourselves. This could only get more awkward if other people from the general public were alongside us for the ride.

“All set?” Tom asked me as he pocketed his phone. I got a good look at him, his long legs encased in jeans, his broad chest and shoulders in a fitted white tee with a leather jacket. He made everyday clothes look just as good as one-of-a-kind Armani, I decided.

“Yes. I think so,” I smiled nervously.

“Just do your best to ignore the cameras. They’ll be fairly obtrusive for a few moments and the flashes will blind you, but it’ll be all over once they’ve had their shots and then we can escape up into the air.” He drummed his fingers on his knees and looked out the window of the speeding vehicle.

Before I could think about what I was saying, I blurted, “I know I’ll be fine with the cameras because you’ll make sure I’m ok. Like at the Tate.” He turned to look at me, his drumming fingers pausing, his mouth slightly open. I opted to look at the floor, embarrassment at what I’d just revealed causing me to color down my neck. My stomach flipped at his quiet response.

“You’re right. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

When I gathered enough courage to look back at him, he was still staring at me, not moving a muscle. And I saw, again, the same emotion on his face as was present in that damned _Shhh! News_ photo.

Our driver broke the odd exchange by announcing we were nearly to the Eye. I started running my fingers through my loose, wavy locks, more out of nervousness than any desire to preen for the cameras. I fidgeted until the car stopped, and Tom told me to wait, that he would open the door for me.

_Like every other time you’ve been in a car with him._

Whether it was intentional or not, the scene when I stepped out of the car was oddly reminiscent of our gala evening the previous night. He took my hand, shielding me at first from what awaited us. He scoured my face for any signs of discomfort.

“You look beautiful. I forgot to tell you,” he said under his breath. “Still ok?”

As soon as I nodded, he slammed the car door and people began crowding us where we stood. Photographers, fans wanting Tom to sign things and pose for pictures, all jockeying for his attention. Surprisingly, he didn’t give it.

“Sorry, guys. Kate has always wanted to do a little sightseeing in this area so tonight’s for her only,” he smiled.

After ushering me through the melee, one arm around my waist, Tom diverted to a side entrance where we were met by a VIP service member and whisked into one of the waiting glass pods. And then we were alone, in a transparent glass structure made to hold twenty five people.

“I hope you’re not afraid of heights,” he mused as he sat down. We were just beginning our rotation, and wouldn’t be high enough to see London in all its glory for a few moments.

“I am, somewhat, but I always get over it. Eiffel Tower wasn’t a big deal for me,” I shared.

“Parlez-vous français?” he asked with a sexy grin.

_Of course he would roll his r’s perfectly. He even sounds divine in French._

I think I surprised him when I responded fluently. “Oui, monsieur. Je parle un peu de français.”

He chuckled. “I hope I wasn’t too forward putting my arm around your waist out there,” he said.

“Not at all, Tom. It was a protective gesture. And I’m willing to bet it’s going to make for some great photos. Right?”

He stood up suddenly and walked over to the opposite side of the glass pod. “Yeah. Great photos.”

 

 

Fifteen minutes into our journey, we were at the exact top of the structure. I was thrilled at what I could see laid out before me, London alight in the nighttime with all of its life and energy. But I also maintained a death grip on the railing in front of me. I could tolerate heights, as I’d told Tom earlier, but I didn’t love them. It was while watching a small tugboat course down the Thames that a pair of hands touched the glass on either side of me.

“Your knuckles are white,” he laughed from behind me.

“Yeah, well, the death grip helps sometimes.” I could feel the outline of his entire body pressed against me. He removed one hand from the glass to brush my long hair away from the left side of my neck. His warm breath puffed against the shell of my ear as he replaced his hand on the glass.

“Put your palms on top of my hands, sweet girl.”

My body jolted at the term of endearment.

_The last time he said that, you were…_

I did as he asked. My pulse was racing with the panic rising inside me, not having anything to grab onto. I simply placed my palms atop his hands.

“Take a deep breath in, Kate.”

As I did so, I felt him lightly rest his chin on my shoulder. “And breathe out, sweet girl.”

I exhaled slowly, shakily. He stayed put, continuing to speak to me from my left shoulder.

“See? I’ve still got you. Just keep hold of my hands. Keep breathing.”

I’d breathed several more calming breaths before I let out a quiet murmur. “Thank you.”

He pressed a light kiss to the skin of my neck, just below my ear. My breath huffed out of me, and I felt the warm, slow stir of desire in my belly.

“You’re welcome,” he returned in that delicious, deep tone of his.

He sounded genuine, but I needed to see his face. I turned, still trapped between his body and the wall of glass. He didn’t move his arms. He had a serious look on his face and was studying me very intently. I couldn’t keep up with him, and told him as much.

“What is happening, Tom? One minute you’re a gracious gentleman, the next you’re playing at being a cad. Then you’ve got me splayed out in your kitchen, and minutes later I’m spewing ire at you from the street,” I stared into his eyes, silently willing him to make sense of the situation for me. Of our situation. “And now I’m at the top of London with you, in your arms, so that everyone can see us out–“

He wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me in his scent and strength. His face was mere centimeters from mine. “Correction, sweet girl: no one can see us right now, at all. We’re all alone up here, in our own little world. No cameras. No fans. No threats or contracts.” The throb in my belly was radiating heat throughout my body. It only worsened when he leaned forward that final bit of space to kiss me.

The kiss was much different from the one our previous evening. It wasn’t hurried, in the heat of a torrid moment. This one was deliberate; he took his time, much as our rotation did. He traced my lips with his tongue until I opened, moaning softly and burying my hands in his hair. My breath hitched in my throat at the first touch of his tongue on mine, and he scooted me closer so that our bodies touched from mouth to foot. I would have gladly suffocated, except he pulled away first for air, resting his forehead on mine again in an action eerily similar to what had happened in his kitchen not twenty-four hours ago. Breathing hard, he still held me close.

“That picture of us,” he started, whispering lowly, “makes me _loathe_ you.” He closed his eyes at the admission. I was startled at his word choice. He didn’t say loathe maliciously, but I could definitely hear the pain behind it. I eased out of his grasp ever so slightly to look in his eyes.

“Why?” I felt cold. Used.

_Again._

Time had apparently moved fleetingly in our glass pod during the kiss. As I backed away from him, I noticed we were almost back down to earth. He balled his fists at his sides and returned my gaze, intensely.

“It makes me want you. _More_. If you hadn’t noticed last night just how fucking much that is,” he stammered. “It makes me see _me_ from your point of view, looking up at me with those gorgeous green eyes like I’m a good person. Like I could offer you the world…” he trailed off.

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t have to say much, because he continued as we touched back down and I hastily gathered my bag.

“I wish I could apologize for what happened last evening – all of it – but I can’t. I loved every frustrating minute of it. I loved your obedience, I loved your fire…the noises you made… _screaming_ my name…you make me _insane_ , Kate.”

And with those words ringing in my ears, the doors of the pod opened and Tom Hiddleston ushered me back into reality. There was no arm around my waist this time; it was clear he was trying to put some distance between us. We were no longer met with cameras; the photographers had done their job and moved on. I found myself completely silent until we reached the car. Maintaining some semblance of good manners in the face of his frustration, Tom still opened my door for me and guided me in. By the time he had climbed in beside me and we’d been driven away, my curiosity was rampant.

“I make you ‘insane’?” I breathed, looking at him with wide eyes.

Lightning fast, he grabbed my hand and kissed it before capturing it between his own palms, holding it. The look he leveled at me just then, coupled with his behavior and revelations in the Eye – essentially everything that had happened this evening – caused that welcome, pleasurable throb to return.

All he could do was nod.

I moved closer to him, but he suddenly stopped me and removed my hand from his.

“I can’t have you, Kate. I work with you. Your contract stipulates that this – all this – is _wrong_. I know damn well the things I did to you last night on my kitchen counter were _wrong_.” I squeezed my thighs together at the memory. My hands on his head, forcing his tongue to lap at my clit in those deliciously broad swipes. Staring into those deep blue eyes as my muscles released one sweet contraction after another. Breathing his name into the dim night, over and over again.

“And here I am on a fake outing with you, trying to salvage my reputation once again because I’ve been caught fucking another co-star, and you’re being sweet and kind and going along with it. Everything about this is fucking _wrong_.”

I had momentarily forgotten about his newest scandal.

_Oh._

“So this time together…not out with those photographers, but…up in the Eye, that was fake?” I could feel my throat burning, my nasal passages tingling with the telltale tears struggling to surface.

He looked away again. “No. God, no. Up there, away from everything, I could have stayed like that with you for quite awhile,” he laughed bitterly. “But…”

_How is it possible to be this irritated and turned on at the same time?_

“But what, Tom?” It was getting harder to hide my frustration.

“We can’t do this again,” he sighed. “I don’t want you to be part of any more publicity ploys or damage control schemes.” I rolled my eyes at his backpedaling from “insane want” to “we can’t do this.”

“What happened to ‘I think I’d like to work with you again. You suit my tastes’?” I emphasized the last few words with a poke to his shoulder. He dropped his head to his hands and groaned.

“I’m so sorry about that. I was threatening…I had a little too much to drink after you left. I was trying to get your _taste_ out of my mouth, out of my _head_ ,” he explained. “I didn’t know whether I wanted Luke to fire you so I wouldn’t have to see you again or give you a fucking promotion so I could be around you as much as possible. The way you spoke to me just…ignited me. Women aren’t usually so…dismissive of me these days.” He paused momentarily before his next statement came tumbling out very, very quietly. He sounded as if he felt physical pain in that moment.

“As soon as you were in that cab I was stumbling back inside the house. I didn’t have the door shut two minutes before I had my cock in my hands, imagining you were spread out on the foyer floor, screaming to the ceiling and gushing all over me.”

_Oh god._

“I brought myself off in the shower again an hour later, thinking about you pressed up against the wall, those long, beautiful legs wrapped around me, your mouth at my ear telling me what a bad girl you wanted to be for me.”

In my highly aroused state, I somehow managed to keep the conversation going, despite the heavy wetness between my legs.

“But maybe this is just an infatuation, Tom, just...” I trailed off dully. “It will probably pass. My job doesn’t have to be at stake because nothing else will happen. I mean, you’re involved with someone else–“

He barked a short, rough laugh. The car was turning into my borough.

“Yeah, a married colleague. I’m such a wonderful person. And then violating you the way I did last night – barely giving you any option of consenting. Being a total arse to you after the fact…threatening blackmail.” He shook his head.

The car pulled up to my apartment building, loitering as we hashed out whatever this thing was between us. I knew I didn’t have much time. And I needed to get into my apartment before my hands found their way into my jeans in public to relieve the aching pressure he was causing.

“I was rude and unprofessional to you,” I supplied matter-of-factly.

“I practically sexually assaulted you,” he rebutted. He was becoming so agitated he’d started pulling at his hair. “Forcing you to let me touch and stroke you.”

I moaned, another surge of moisture flooding me as I remembered swearing at him to touch me. “I begged for it.”

Scrambling into his lap, I ground myself down onto him, my fingers biting into his shoulder muscles. “And I forced you to finish me off with that delectable mouth of yours.”

He crushed me to him then, kissing me and knocking the air from my lungs. He pressed his length into the crotch of my jeans one time, very forcefully, then ran both hands through my hair and pulled my head back as he spoke his final words of the night.

“Please leave now, Kate. I can’t be responsible for what I’ll do to you if you stay in this car a second longer.” He shoved me away, ignoring my look of shocked lust, and asked the driver to escort me inside safely. The adrenaline coursing through my body had me shaking, and I was so flushed I felt like passing out. I managed to gather myself and stepped out of the Jag.

The last thing I saw before closing the car door was Tom, veins working in his neck, sweat beaded at his hairline. And in his faraway gaze, as he tried to calm himself, I saw movement.

Tears. 


	6. Burned Too Easily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate's role at Prosper changes, but is it for better or worse? Probably worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here be some more (mild-ish) smut. I appreciate all the comments; you guys are actually helping me write this as we go along. Enjoy!

_**Hiddleston Only Has ‘Eye’ for Kate Michael** _

_**Daily Mail**_

_It seems that Kate Michael’s recent insistence that she is “just the help” may be all for naught._

_The Prosper UK assistant to Luke Windsor, photographed earlier this past week at a Tate Modern charity event with Tom Hiddleston, was seen again last evening on what looked to be a cosy date with Tom._

_Photographers caught the two arriving at the London Eye, where Tom helped Kate out of their private car and was gracious, if not dismissive, of fans who had hopes of scoring an autograph or photo with the_ Only Lovers Left Alive _star._ _The actor apparently told fans and the cameras he was there for Kate only – the two were doing a bit of sightseeing._

_After a standard 30-minute revolution on the wheel, Hiddleston and Michael were seen quickly speeding away in a waiting car._

_Hiddleston’s rep could not be reached for comment._

 

_**Blind Item**_

_**Shhh! News** _

_Don’t be fooled by the amorous looks these two famous figures have been throwing at each other in recent days – it’s a setup to detract from his less than gentlemanly qualities when on (and off) movie sets. They say the ‘eyes’ are the windows to the soul, but she’s only doing this as a work favour for him so fans won’t know about his own wandering eyes…_

 

_**Girl Crush + Boy Crush = Gossip Heaven** _

_**Rumourroom.co.uk** _

_Dear Readers,_

_It could finally be happening._

_We know you keep up with all the other gossip out there, but we’re also glad you check in with us to sort out the truth from the fiction. We pride ourselves on some very reliable sources here at Rumour Room._

_At this point it’s no secret that our lovely Kate Michael has started to work with Tom Hiddleston, one of Prosper UK’s highest-profile clients. Their appearance together at the Tate gala had flashbulbs bursting, tongues wagging…our hearts here at RR were almost bursting! These two look made for one another._

_Interestingly, their first appearance at said gala was the first time both had ever met. If sparks can fly that fast…_

_For those of you who’ve been keeping up with the latest news story about Tom and Kate’s visit to the London Eye, we’ve got a juicy tip that no other news outlet has gotten hold of._

_T_ _hat latest blind item from_ Shhh! News _? You know the one. Three separate sources have confirmed it’s true._

_But we love you so much, dear readers, that we’re going to do you one better._

_An additional source has come forward with photographic – though slightly grainy – evidence that the actor and PR ‘professor’ shared a very private moment at the top of their rotation on the Eye. It looks as though both assumed the cameras were gone. We’ll leave you to judge what’s going on, but body language doesn’t lie._

_Watch this space, dear readers,_

_Rumour Room_

 

Luke’s desk was buried in copies of nearly every tabloid and major newspaper in Great Britain, and I noticed with some interest as I sat down that there were two or three American publications tossed in the mix, too.

“As you can see, your outing was an unmitigated success,” he smiled. “I don’t know if people are unanimously buying your new relationship, but it’s certainly taken some of the heat off of Tom’s latest bad decision.”

_Are you referring to his married conquest or to me?_

Luke still had no idea what had transpired at Tom’s house, or inside our pod on the Eye. I found myself, once again, in a moment of déjà vu: in Luke’s office, thumbing through the news, debating whether or not to quit this job that was causing me so many conflicting emotions.

The Brit beat me to it, again.

He plunked down a red Cartier jewelry box in front of me.

“Luke,” I questioned, “what is this? And please tell me it’s not for me and I’m just being asked my opinion about which of our clients would look best wearing it.”

“Open it, Yankee.”

I did. And gasped, accordingly. “Jesus Christ, Luke.”

I didn’t even want to touch it.

_Just something else to add to your tab. Shit._

“It’s the _Trinity de Cartier_ necklace. Three bands of gold. They represent different things, according to the bullshit the jeweler spouted at me,” he explained.

“I can’t – I won’t accept this. This is ridiculous. I work for you, basically as a glorified gopher for your company. I can’t be seen wearing something this outlandish–”

He put his hand atop my own, leading my fingertips to the white, yellow, and rose gold bands encrusted with diamonds. “Consider this a down payment,” he nodded toward the box.

“A down payment? You mean another item that will be added to my final bill when I fail at this job and lose the bet?” I scoffed.

“Try it on and I’ll explain to you,” he urged. I glowered in his face but could see he wouldn’t say another word until I unclasped the necklace from its cord and delicately draped it around my neck. I stiffened slightly at the cool contact of the metal on my skin.

“If you haven’t noticed, you’ve literally become invaluable to me, to this firm, and to Tom Hiddleston in the space of two days,” he started. “And I appreciate so much your willingness to work with me not only doing PR and assisting with all the things that need assisting, but for putting up with him. He’s a difficult man. Impetuous, overly impressed with himself, egotistical, but such a talent and one of our brightest stars.”

I swallowed.

“I’m going to present you with a new offer, a new deal if you will, because I’m going to ask you to do something that I know you’re going to find unpleasant, despite what the tabs and gossip sites are saying.” I touched the necklace absentmindedly, which caught Luke’s attention. He seemed to pause momentarily, gathering his next words.

“That _Trinity de Cartier_? Three strong metal bands and one encrusted with diamonds? That’s me, Tom, and you,” he counted off on his fingers.

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me. I need to take this off before you bill me,” I began, “How are you even affording this?!”

He shushed me. “No, no. Wait. Hear me out. Between the three of us, we have the ability to make Prosper UK, to make Tom Hiddleston, soar to stratospheric heights. The three of us working together – we can keep Tom out of trouble. We can secure him the best roles. We might even get him to the Oscars!”

_I’m not hearing how this benefits me in any way at all, other than being allowed to wear this drop-dead gorgeous necklace._

“So, I get a necklace, presumably worth several thousand pounds, and I get to work even more closely with Tom as a client,” I reasoned cynically, “and when I still fail at all of this in the end, you know, because I’m just a professor who’s being used to deflect attention away from Tom’s conquests, I still get to pay this back too. Correct?”

He smirked. “Not correct. You get that necklace, and I keep providing you with a wardrobe and accessories befitting the popular young woman you are quickly becoming. And if you agree, here and now, that Tom will be your first priority at this firm, eschewing all the other clients, I will expunge all your expenses incurred – clothes, jewelry, shoes, the flat – should you not deliver on your infamous bet.” The satisfaction on his face as he finished and sat back in his chair was dangerous to behold. I blew out the breath I was holding.

_You’d be a fool not to take this offer. It would take ten lifetimes to repay all of the things you’ve incurred since starting here._

“I would no longer work with Iwan, or Douglas, or Emma?” He shook his head.

“Working for me and working with Tom would be your only priority.”

“And if I don’t work to your satisfaction or decide to quit the job on or before the end of a year, I would only owe you my salary?”

“Yes ma’am. And I’d let you keep everything you’ve been gifted.” He laughed as my eyes widened.

“I absolutely have no idea why you’re so dead set on doing, this, boss. This is something that’s an obvious choice here – you know as well as I do I could never afford to repay all of the goods you’ve given me,” I said.

“I know. So basically you don’t have much of a reason to say no,” he winked. “I think you’re good for him. People love you two together, whether it’s work or the rumour of something more…personal,” he raised an eyebrow at this part of the statement.

_Now would probably be a great time to tell Luke how, er, conflicted Tom was with you last evening!_

“Oh, and by the way, you’d be going to some gorgeous locations and could travel with him anytime you liked,” he continued.

_Ah, fuck. Deal with the consequences later._

“Fine,” I held out my hand to shake his, sealing the deal.

“Excellent! The Trinity! So, starting from here on out, Tom is your only client – anything he needs, whatever work needs done for him, comes to you. He’s already left as of early this morning to do some early test shooting for _Skull Island_ but he should be back in about three days. And in his absence, I’ve got a little list of favors I need for you see to…”

I zoned out, partially relieved at the prospect of not owing Luke and/or Prosper UK hundreds of thousands of dollars if I ended up not meeting expectations for the job by the end of the year. Or if I simply had enough of Tom Hiddleston’s back and forth behavior. When he finished talking, I thanked my lucky stars Luke had given me a copy of all the information he’d just discussed with me. It was too much to remember. The checklist of items that normally required someone’s attention when Tom left town was specific. He lived alone; there were things that needed taken care of while he was away. Those things naturally fell to me, now. Some of them were normal, and others, well – he’d been spoiled all his life. He wasn’t about to stop being so now. The easiest items came last:

_Take care of mail and dry cleaning services before his return._

_Stock fridge, freezer, and liquor as you see fit._

_Make sure the cleaning service has been in at least once to do linens, floors, and upholstery._

_Any correspondence regarding_ Skull Island _should be gathered (emails, faxes, letters, phone messages from higher-ups) for him to peruse upon his return._

_Order take away to have something ready at the house should he come home earlier than expected._

Most of it was all fairly standard stuff, especially for a guy with a lot of money who was a bachelor. Whereas I had been worried about honoring strange requests like “remove all green M&M’s from candy dishes throughout the house”, now I only needed to call for certain services. The rest could be done easily myself.

_And even if I end up sucking at this, I don’t have to sell my soul to Satan to repay Luke an exorbitant amount of money._

I spent the majority of that afternoon at my desk, absentmindedly touching the Cartier necklace and furtively reading every news article I could find about our appearance at the Eye. The photographs taken “spontaneously” of the two of us seemed to do the job, at least in my eyes. We looked like we didn’t care about being caught out together – and it was hard to pinpoint whether we were colleagues, in the middle of a blooming friendship, or becoming a romantic item. None of the news outlets could agree on which of those we were.

But I was quickly learning, in this world, it didn’t matter. People were talking about Tom and me, and not his recent indiscretion. This was good, according to Luke. Any hints in the press of an actual relationship between us, I had to ignore. Especially as those hints reminded me that one part of my contract hadn’t changed:

_“Will NOT get involved personally with Prosper UK clientele and will maintain a professional working distance and attitude from talent at all times”_

I had deviated from my professional distance again during our outing last night. But wasn’t that okay? He had too. He was the one who’d started it. I was doing so in the service of rerouting the conversation about Tom’s personal life. But at the night’s end, by dismissing me from the car, Tom had made it clear that my contract was still very much in play.

_In the end, it’s all a game. But you get to play a lot of it for free._

_________________________________________________________________________________________________

The rest of the week was a balance of showing up to work wearing the _Trinity de Cartier_ , as a show of good faith to Luke that I was focused solely on my “Tom job”, and preparing the Hampstead house for Tom’s return. I’d done nearly everything I could via phone and professional service, and I knew eventually I’d need to set foot once again inside his home. When I did, I was pleased to note that the house was clean, everything looked pristine, and all that was left for me to do was gather his mail and dry cleaning, place his personal correspondence in his office, and make sure he had food for the few days in between his travels.

I had elected to buy and stock Tom’s groceries and other sundries myself, and on the afternoon before his return, I lugged in my purchases and went about refilling his fridge and freezer. Luke had clued me in on some of Tom’s favorite food items, and I knew this wasn’t a subtle hint.

_This is Luke making sure you’re accommodating Tom in every way possible. This is literally your life now, your job. Accommodating Tom fucking Hiddleston._ _Who basically booted you out of his car after whatever happened up there on the Eye._

The entire time I unloaded in the kitchen, I avoided looking at the one part of his countertop he’d placed me on. I kept from thinking about what his hands and mouth did to me there, about the paperwork on his kitchen table I’d had to bargain for. If I was to do this job successfully from now on, I needed to keep a level head. Keep the personal separate from the business side of things.

Tom seemed to be of the same mind. The text message he sent me later that day was nothing short of polite and measured.

_**Much appreciation for taking care of things at home. Be in touch soon.** _

It was all so cold, so clinical. But that’s what I’d agreed to, apparently. Spending all my energy working with him; honoring the specifications of my contract. I responded awhile later, keeping much the same tone.

_**No problem. Let me know if anything is amiss when you’re back in town.** _

I was still on the clock after setting up the kitchen and collecting the mail and dry cleaning, so I set about the house to make sure everything was as it should be. Rooms had been freshly scrubbed, bed linens had been changed and laundry had been done. I found his office unlocked and deposited all the important documentation/correspondences on his desk for him to sift through when he got back. Against my better judgment, I took a moment to look around his office – not touching anything – but just to get a general sense of the area and all the stuff Tom had crammed onto every flat surface and shelf.

Underneath a small pile of papers at the far end of his desk, a bright flash of red peeked out. Not really understanding why my curiosity was piqued, I stepped closer to find that the flash of red was the side of a folded shopping bag. I didn’t dare move anything, but as I leaned down closer to look at the bag, a flash of gold glimmered back at me. It was a lower-case cursive letter r, stamped into the red finish of the bag. My stomach flipped.

_That’s the font of Cartier._

In disbelief, or perhaps confusion – surely this was a coincidence – I backed away from Tom’s desk and fled his office as quickly as possible, slamming the door behind me. Had he bought me the Trinity? Was HE behind Luke’s newest bribe? I had so many thoughts, so many questions – but they all ended up at the same point that everything usually did when it came to Tom. The man confused me. He ran hot and cold with me. His personality changed as often as Luke bought me new clothes.

_Or was Tom the one behind all of my luxurious gifts?_

The thought made me sick. Emotional manipulation, sexual manipulation seemed to be things he was comfortable with – it was entirely possible that he had convinced Luke to agree to my latest role.

_But why would he want you with him? He all but told you to stay away the other night in the car. The last time you saw him he ended up in tears talking about your “relationship.”_

And I’d yet to figure out what that had been about.

Putting as much distance between that Cartier bag and myself, I went back down to the kitchen to make a meal for Tom to eat whenever he returned. Although Luke had suggested I order something in, I wanted to cook. I rarely got the chance to do so anymore, and it was a hobby I’d always enjoyed.

_Hell, technically right now you’re being paid to cook. Might as well bake something too._

In between prepping some ground beef and noodles for a lasagna, I scrolled my phone for any recent news. I told myself I was checking in on my past clients – Gemma, Douglas…but I was ravenous for photos of Tom with me; I was searching for any new articles or posts that attempted to make sense of a relationship I couldn’t pin down. Nothing new popped up, so I finished prepping the lasagna and set to work making a cheesecake. If Luke wanted me to do the best job I could, this is what I would have to show for it. The ultimate in personal assistance: food made from scratch. It was no secret around the office and in the press that Tom had a ravenous sweet tooth, and a small part of me wanted him to praise my skills, wanted to impress him and satisfy him.

_To what end? Get your head out of your ass and bake the crust._

In between cooking duties, I texted Nicole to see what was going on in the lives of our other clientele. My world had quickly shrunk to revolve around one person, and I felt isolated from the rest of Prosper and its talent.

_**Hey girl…anything exciting going on tonight??** _

She must have been quite busy, possibly out working with one of our charges, because it took her an hour or so to respond. In that time, I’d cleaned up the kitchen a considerable amount (still taking care to avoid that damned spot on the counter) and was watching the chocolate chip cheesecake cool on a rack as the lasagna finished in the oven.

_**Just left a dinner with Emma. I’m headed home to put together a couple of press kits. Have you seen the news lately? OMG** _

I hadn’t. I’d been busy prepping and baking, wondering about the mysterious purchaser of a _Trinity de Cartier_. Nicole sent a follow-up text.

_**You might have some work ahead of you – do a Google search for Tom and Skull Island. Or just hit up Rumour Room…** _

I hadn’t heard of Rumour Room, but assumed, from what I’d learned of places like Lainey Gossip and Celebitchy, that it was a similarly-written website. I quickly opened Safari and Googled Rumour Room, wondering what Nic was talking about. I didn’t have to look far.

He had the top two articles on the site.

 

 

_**Hiddleston Gets Steamy at the Scene** _

_**Rumourroom.co.uk**_

_Dear Readers,_

_Here are the pap photos we’ve been promising you within the last hour after Hiddles’ latest sighting on-set during test shooting for_ Skull Island.

_Our sources can confirm that the man is indeed Tom, and the woman is – you guessed it – his latest co-star._

_These pics are NSFW so view at your own risk._

_At least this co-star’s not married, dear readers,_

_Rumour Room_

I scrolled further, not even wanting to see the pictures. Bile rose in my throat as I read the earlier article that followed.

 

_**But What Will Kate Say?** _

_**Rumourroom.co.uk** _

_Dear Readers,_

_After receiving a hot tip earlier today, we’ve been made aware of some potentially damaging, highly juicy photographs that are currently circulating featuring our perpetual man-crush, Tom Hiddleston._

_Kate Michael isn’t in them. (Sads. We wish you were, Kate!)_

_A series of very, very explicit pics have apparently been taken and leaked by local cameras staking out the set of_ Skull Island _, Tom’s upcoming blockbuster about King Kong._

_From what we’ve just found out, Tom and his newest co-star were found in a hot and heavy embrace on one of the location’s private beaches._

_Sans clothes._

_In flagrante delicto._

_This CAN’T be the work of Tom’s PR, mainly because no one would be this stupid, and we like to think of Kate Michael as Tom’s PR, herself._

_Seems our OTP might be D-E-A-D, dear readers,_

_Rumour Room_

 

 

I wasn’t sure what I expected, but foolishly, this wasn’t it. Hadn’t Luke and I just gotten him out of one entanglement with a co-star? And now he was fooling around with the next one?

_Not to mention the little moment he had with you the other night._

I looked around Tom’s kitchen in utter disbelief, marveling at all I’d just done for him, assistant or not. I’d made homemade food…

Bitter, angry tears welled in my eyes and I slammed my hands onto the lip of the sink as I fought them.

_You knew this would happen. As you told Luke from the start – he’s nothing but an arrogant, cheating bastard._

In my life dealing with civilians, I would have looked at a situation like this and thought, “this is entirely unexpected.” But I didn’t deal with civilians anymore. I dealt with the rich and famous – one primary rich and famous person. Who had sidled up to a handful of women at a museum party just to ogle and flirt. Who had forced sexual activity on me in exchange for my keeping a job. Who had caroused with a married actress, then romanced me on a fucking fake set-up. Who had probably feigned those tears and that angst in the back of the Jaguar. Yes. It all made sense. This was why we couldn’t be together. Fuck the contract stipulations; he had a new set of paid-for tits to chase after!

To dig the knife in further, I scrolled back up to the initial _Rumour Room_ article and clicked on the link that took me to the NSFW photos.

Tears were pouring down my face as I clicked.

_She definitely paid for those tits._

Picture after picture of Tom and whatshername, arms and legs entangled on a so-called “private” nude beach.

Tom’s face buried between her goddamn inflatable chest pillows.

The photogs had even managed to get candid shots of the two of them fucking.

_And from the rapturous look on her face, he must have done a fantastic job. Well, he’s your responsibility now. Never mind any feelings you thought you had._

I fired off a text to Luke, not bothering to hide my ire.

_**Are you aware of what your boy has been caught doing?** _

He must have been on it, because he fired back seconds later.

_**On it.** _

Then another a minute or so later.

_**If I could only get him to think WITHOUT his prick once in awhile!** _

I said nothing in response. There was nothing for me to say. Luke would give me direction, and I would do what needed to be done. I had a _Trinity de Cartier_ to show for it.

_**Have you prepped the house for his arrival? I know he’s due back tomorrow but I’m sure you just want to finalize things and leave.** _

I waited a beat.

_**Yes. Made food also.** _

The combination of rage, jealousy, and sadness had me practically hyperventilating as I waited for Luke’s next missive.

_Why the hell are you jealous? You should have known this would happen._

_**Thank you. Go home and get some rest. We’re going to need to recoup, here.** _

And that was it. Radio silence from Luke, from Nic…and I didn’t dare send anything to Tom.

_He’s probably got that bitch on her back right now. Fucking sleaze._

To my credit, I didn’t smash the glass pan of lasagna onto the floor or throw the cheesecake into the garbage disposal. With shaking hands, sniffling, I wrapped both and placed them carefully in the fridge. I’d completed my job, to the best of my ability. And I knew in the back of my mind that this event wasn’t a possibility. With a man like Tom, it was a certainty. So, feeling like a woman scorned, I decided to at least let off some steam and take advantage of the million-pound home I was currently in.

I went upstairs, took off everything but the _Trinity de Cartier_ , and drew myself a bath in Tom’s master bathroom.

 

 

My emotional exhaustion coupled with the warm, soothing bath water had apparently lulled me into a light sleep, because I awoke to the sound of someone bumping around downstairs.

_Oh shit. Did I turn the security alarm off?_

I had no experience with self-defense and couldn’t see myself buck naked with just a towel, strangling an intruder, so I waited, trying to formulate a plan. I was about to reach my phone and dial 999 when I heard him.

“Hello? Kate?”

_What the SHIT? He’s not supposed to be back until tomorrow morning!_

Throwing my phone down, I sincerely thought I would have time to climb out of the bath, towel off, and put my clothes back on. Of course I was wrong. Tom was bounding up the stairs on those freakishly long legs, calling for me.

_Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!_

And I’d left the door open and the light on.

_What’s that saying? Like a moth to a flame?_

He found me with one arm across my breasts and my legs tightly crossed, submerged in the soapy water, scowling at him.

“Well, hello there!” He dropped his suitcase where he stood and tossed his phone onto the bathroom counter. Crossing his arms, clearly in satisfaction at having caught me (naked, no less), he leaned back and appraised every inch of my exposed skin.

_Bastard is actually smiling at me right now._

“Could you GET OUT?! Can’t you see I’m naked and wasn’t expecting you?”

He didn’t budge. He only smiled wider. “Taking advantage of my hot water heater, I see?” he winked. “And you’re not totally naked, sweet girl. You have a very lovely necklace on. Mind if I get a closer look at it?”

“For fuck’s sake, Tom. Can you please just…get out or hand me a towel or SOMETHING?”

He moved forward and began taking off his shoes and socks, as if he meant to join me. Didn’t offer a towel – didn’t leave.

_You’re going to have to be a fucking big girl and get out of this tub._

“Fine! You don’t want to help me out here, then get out of my way.” I stood up in the tub, soap and water running down my body in rivulets. I was lucky the water was hot enough to turn my skin red – it mostly covered the blush I was sporting.

He watched me intently as I gingerly stepped out of the tub onto the bath mat, not bothering to mask his appreciation at what he saw. His eyes raked over me from tip to toe.

_It can’t get any worse than this. Just grab your clothes and go._

“You look very regal like that, you know,” he smirked, following me into his bedroom. “That beautiful body dripping wet, adorned with nothing but a Cartier necklace…”

I was livid. Here was another example of Tom’s excellent acting prowess: once again, pretending to be a gentleman to the outside world, but in actuality being as base and lewd as possible.

“So apparently you’re not going to give me any privacy so I can dress?” I yelled.

“My darling girl, you were in my bathtub, in my house. You forget I’ve already seen you with a skirt halfway up your waist, your panties in my pocket.”

_The fucking nerve. He thinks this is hilarious. Probably in such a good mood after screwing Beach Barbie._

“You. Are. A. Pig,” I made a dramatic show of sloughing off the water on my body onto the carpet of his bedroom, sneering at him the entire time. As I turned away to reach for my clothes, I heard the metallic clank of his belt buckle, followed by the sound of a zipper. Stepping as gracefully as I could into my panties, I turned back around to see Tom staring at my backside, sitting on the edge of his bed with his cock in his hands. His erection looked purple, angry. He was already smearing a large bead of precum around the head.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I got in his face, crowding him, ignoring the fact that I was still naked aside from a tiny pair of see-through lace boyshorts. He leaned back on the bed on one elbow as he continued to stroke his cock leisurely, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Enjoying the show, sweet girl. Would you mind staying naked for just a moment so I can look at you? Perhaps slide those back down your legs?” He was staring right at my pussy, only partially covered by my panties. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Indignant as I was, the sight of him stroking himself with those long, elegant fingers was causing heat to pool deep in my belly. My nipples responded, traitorously, in kind.

_Cover yourself! Move! Do something!_

“Someone’s happy to see me, I think,” he rasped. All traces of his smile were gone; he was greedily drinking in my form with his eyes. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his hand, stroking up and down his thick shaft.

_Oh god. Look how hard you made him. Fucking hell._

“Won’t you be my good girl and take your panties off, darling?” He bit his lip as his strokes became fractionally faster. I watched his ab muscles flex with each pass of his hand from base to tip. My clit throbbed at the seductive tone of his voice. I was lost, again, my body calling out to the handsome bastard before me.

_Fine. He’s taking his pleasure? You take yours._

I tore the panties down my legs, throwing them onto the heap of my discarded clothes, and dropped to my knees right in front of his splayed legs. Dipping my fingers between my legs and finding myself soaked, I locked eyes with his and began fucking myself slowly, matching the rhythm of his strokes.

“There now, sweet girl,” he breathed heavily, “not so bad, is it?” He could only manage to keep his gaze on my face for a few seconds before his more primal instincts took over. Eyes dropping to my dripping pussy, he groaned loudly when he saw my fingers slipping in and out of my slit.

“God damn, you’re lovely.”

_You want a show, you asshole? Watch this._

I leaned back, knees spread wide, still kneeling, and began rubbing soft circles on my clit with my other hand, moaning throatily and tossing him the evilest glare I could muster, all things considered. I wanted him to want me so badly, more than all the other random women he bedded, just so I could have the satisfaction of hurting him. And that was as far as I got in acknowledgment of his hurting me.

“Do you like watching me, Tom?” I purred, rubbing faster. “Do you like it that I’m your personal assistant and you caught me naked in your bathtub, and now I’m spread on your floor, pussy juice running down my legs onto your carpet?”

His voice must have dropped three octaves. “Mmm… _fuck_.”

“Do you want me to help you, _sir_? It’s my job to do whatever you need,” I cooed. “Can I help you jerk off that big, hard cock?” His eyes were starting to glaze over slightly.

“Hah–oh _god_ , sweet girl.”

_Perfect._

I stopped my own ministrations and crawled toward him on all fours, staring at his face. He was so entranced that he startled when I slapped his hand away from his cock. “No, _sir_. Let me do that for you.”

I stood to my full height, bending slightly at the waist so he could ogle my breasts.

_They’re not bought; they’re real and they’re MINE, you jerk_.

Placing my hands on his splayed thighs, I bowed my head to let a trail of spit dribble onto his cock. He twitched at the sensation, and I wasted no time, putting both of my hands onto him, twisting slow strokes up and down.

“It’s your luck my hands are so small, Mr. Hiddleston,” I sneered. “They make your big dick look enormous,” I continued. He was taking tight, short breaths, watching as my hands moved faster and closed tighter around his penis.

“Yessss,” he hissed. He craned his neck to kiss me but I moved my face further away from his.

_Double first from Cambridge and he’s struck dumb._

“Do you want me to suck you, sir?” I returned to my kneeling position, moving one of my hands to his balls. His nostrils were flaring, the vein in his forehead was popped, and his eyes were nearly black, his pupils were so dilated.

“Unghh god _yes_ …mouth, sweet girl,” he panted. I leaned closer and closer, mouth open, tongue licking my lips every so often, my hands still working his cock and sac. But I waited. I wanted to hear him beg. So I spit a little more saliva on his head and rubbed it around with my thumb.

“C’mon, baby,” he breathed. He moved one of his steadying hands off the bed to try and grab at the back of my head. I _tsked_ him and raised an eyebrow. He froze.

“Hands at your sides, sir, _please_.” I winked. I made him think he would get what he wanted. And by the shaking of his legs and the straining toward my mouth he was doing, he thought he’d be getting it soon. So he obeyed my command.

I placed my lips right up against his cock, darting my tongue out ever so slightly to take a quick taste of him.

“Ka–Kate… _shit_ …right there,” he closed his eyes.

_End this. Now._

“Be a good boy and look at me when I finish you, _sir_ ,” I said in the sweetest voice I could muster.

He had requested the same of me when his mouth was on my pussy. My, how the tables had turned.

Whispering against his cock, I sped up my hand on the lower portion of his shaft. “Do you want to come, Tom?” I spoke deeply, emphasizing his first name. I kissed his tip and kept stroking. All he could do was nod. His chest was heaving, eyes wide. “Would you like to come on me, or do you want me to drink you?” Another quick lick up the top half of his cock.

“P–please…” He was teetering on the edge; I could feel his balls tightening.

“You know,” I made a slurping sound against his head, “I think I’d love a pearl necklace from you…”

And in the split second before he started to come, I tore my hands away, stood up to my full height, and took in his angry, shocked expression.

“But I already have the _Trinity de Cartier_.” I gathered my clothes, and turned toward the door. But before I left the room, I gave Tom my sweetest smile. “I made you dinner and dessert, _sir_.” The last he heard of me was the slamming of his bedroom door.


	7. The Amazing Undateable Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate earns a day off from dealing with Tom's bad behavior, yet Tom's bad behavior continues…and continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more mild smut. (Sorry I'm such a tease.) Much appreciation for everyone's kudos and comments. Your opinions mean so much to me! Thanks for reading.

Text messages, phone calls, and two voicemails accumulated on my phone in the time it took me to return to my apartment. I ignored everything, throwing my iPhone down onto my entryway table and discarding my bag on the floor.

_You wanted to play, you asshole? Hope you enjoyed that._

Stripping off my clothes, I ruminated on the adrenaline rush currently buzzing through my body. I was pleased with myself for working Tom into such a frenzy, but my overriding emotions were ire, jealousy. How could he be so heartless, so careless, to go through woman after woman? After the things we’d said and done…after the tenderness he’d showed me during our little not-date?

_He’s an actor. Basically, he gets paid millions to lie for a living. Grow up._

I was almost into the shower – feeling the need to clean myself up after the display of debauchery I’d put on earlier – when I remembered I still had on the _Trinity de Cartier_. Leaving the water running, I returned to my bedroom and walked up to the mirror of my boudoir. Staring at the intertwined gold bands looped around my neck, I gently touched the precious metal, hearing Luke’s voice in my head.

“That’s me, Tom, and you…”

Instead of having Tom metaphorically around my neck, I much preferred the thought of having my _hands_ around _his_  neck. He was so careless in his actions – how could someone rumored to be so “professional” by colleagues and directors be so callow and dishonest?

_Again. He’s an actor. He gets paid millions to lie for a living._

I couldn’t decide whether I was more upset with him for deceiving me, for screwing someone else (another in an assuredly long list), or for making more messes for Luke and Prosper to clean up. Unfortunately, now that he was my sole client, I had just as much responsibility as Luke in making sure Tom’s image remained as intact as possible.

Gingerly unclasping the necklace, I took it off and returned it lovingly to its red velvet box. It really was a stunning piece of jewelry. But I felt, the longer I looked at it, that I had indeed sold the goodness of my heart and soul in exchange.

_Perhaps you’ll come up with a solution to this mess after you’ve bathed._

Clearing my mind as much as possible, I stepped into the steam of the shower and ducked my head under the spray. I took my time showering, and the consequences were showing on my phone’s lock screen when I retrieved it from the entryway. I now had an additional set of text messages and another few calls.

_And so it continues…_

Some of the texts were from Nicole, all of hers gossipy and just prying, in general, about what I knew regarding Tom’s little beach party. I didn’t have the energy to delve into the situation so I tapped a vague response and sent it.

_**Will keep you updated as I know things. XO** _

Remaining messages were all from Luke. He wasn’t really frantic, but I could tell he was once again irritated by Tom’s thoughtlessness.

_**Thanks again for prepping Tom’s house – I’m trying to shut down those pictures from being leaked any further.** _

_**Apparently he arrived home this evening? Did you get a chance to speak with him??** _

And one final message, presumably after he’d spoken with Tom.

_**Did you two have words, Yank? He seems awfully irritated…take tomorrow off to catch your breath and I’ll be in touch when I need you.** _

I flopped onto my bed, feeling a measure of relaxation at the idea of a day off. But then I looked at the remaining unchecked data on my phone. None of the calls or voicemails were from Nic or Luke.

Four calls, all from Tom. Two voicemails, presumably from Tom, also.

What did he possibly have to say to me? Thanks for dinner? I really loved the blowjob you almost gave me?

I hated how curious I was. Both of the voicemails were recorded minutes after I’d left Hampstead.

_Just wait it out. You honestly can’t care that much about what the bastard has to say._

The shower had made me sleepy, and I realized I was fatigued because I’d barely had time to eat anything all day. It was getting late. A good night’s sleep and a leisurely day tomorrow would do me well, would clear my head, I decided. I prepared for bed, eyeing my phone every few minutes to see if anyone else tried to contact me. My phone was silent.

_And that is as good a sign as any that it is bedtime!_

Closing my bedroom door, I shut off the lights, plugged in my phone and placed it on the nightstand, and crawled exhaustedly under the covers. As I started to drift off, my closed eyelids detected a slight change in brightness in the room. I opened my eyes and looked back over at my phone.

Tom was calling. Again. My phone rang, and rang, and I almost answered it just so he would stop bothering me. I had nothing to say to him and whatever he had to say to me couldn’t possibly warrant this kind of idiotic harassment late at night. But as I expected a third voicemail to pop up among my notifications, one new text message from Tom appeared instead.

_**Check your voicemails. Darling.** _

_What in the ever-living FUCK is so important?_

Yanking the charger cord from the phone, I swiped to unlock the screen and accessed my voicemail.

I immediately heard the sound of heavy breathing, panting almost, followed by Tom’s angry voice. “You little _bitch,”_ he snarled. The sound was deep, sinister. Goosebumps raised on my arms and legs at the sound of his voice rasping in my ear. “Liked that, did you? I’ll remind you you’re _my_ personal assistant,” he spat, “and you’ve left your job _unfinished.”_

He was clearly referencing that delightful moment when I edged him to orgasm and then took it away. It had been satisfying for one of us, at least. The message finished.

“Don’t think I’ll forget this, _sweet girl_.” And the line clicked.

I was really pleased with myself for catching him off guard, at his most vulnerable, and for not giving in and giving him what he wanted. If I was honest, though, I also thrilled at how sexy he sounded – upset and threatening on the other end of the phone. That voice hid a multitude of sins; it also brought many of them forth. I listened to the message twice more, closing my eyes and pretending he was in bed beside me, growling his displeasure in my ear. Arousal began to weave slow tendrils from the shell of my ear, where that voice resonated, down to the points of my nipples, over the soft skin of my tummy, to settle deep in my core.

The ache only got worse as I listened to Tom’s second voicemail. His voice was no longer angry – just…mischievous? Malicious? I couldn’t tell. In a deep, slow tone, Tom had recorded himself finishing what I didn’t.

“Ooooh, sweet _girl…_ since you refused to help me spurt _all…mmm…over_ you and in your…your m–mouth…”

I could hear the slick sound of flesh stroking flesh and I felt hot. Dizzy with pleasure.

“You get to listen to me do it myself…ahhh…while I think of… _fuck_ …” he groaned, losing himself momentarily. The slick sounds continued, faster.

I gasped as I thrust a hand inside my underwear, finding my folds swollen and drenched.

_Oh god. Please keep talking._

“…of fucking your good little… _ungh_!...mouth…and that _sweet tasting p–pussy_ ,” he moaned.

_He sounds so fucking good._

I was biting my lip so hard I could taste blood. My fingers tickled over my clit, the button hard and at attention after hearing Tom’s luscious, deep voice. His explicit message continued as I slipped two fingers into my pussy, grinding my clit against the heel of my hand.

“And if…oh _shit_ …if you’re a good girl for…me… _yesss_ …” his strokes matched the pace I’d set of my thrusting fingers, “I’ll get y–you to s–say…my name…” his breathing was shallow and he sounded as if he was shaking.

I whimpered as I felt my stomach muscles start to clench slightly. The ache was getting worse, my juices coating my fingers.

“…when I fuck…you…in that… _hnnghh_ …little ass of yours…hoh GOD… _FUCK_!” he roared.

I groaned aloud, still rubbing and fucking myself, listening to the sounds of Tom Hiddleston coming. The harsh breathing, his silken voice moaning in pleasure…

I slipped my fingers out of my slit, spreading my legs wider and replaying the voicemail from the beginning. I wanted to hear every word that fell from that beautiful mouth, hear the wet sounds of his pleasure. And I wanted to pretend he was there, watching me fuck myself to the sound of his voice.

Sleep didn’t find me until I’d replayed the message six times. My dreamless slumber was the product of two particularly strong orgasms. They were not necessarily at Tom’s hands, but he was every bit responsible for both of them.

 

I woke up very late the next morning, disoriented at the fact that I was somehow naked and my phone had spent the night in the bed with me. And then I remembered.

_Fuck_.

Heat flooded me instantly. Because I had no shame and didn’t need to be at work, I punched the replay button still available on my phone and gave myself another seeing to, once again courtesy of Mr. Hiddleston.

_He may be a worthless human being but Jesus Christ he’s hot._

When I was able to walk to the bathroom on no-longer-shaking legs, I went about preparing myself for a nice, quiet day out. There was a bookstore not far from my apartment that I’d wanted to browse for quite awhile, but I hadn’t had any time recently to buy books, much less read them. It seemed there were things I did miss about my old life.

_But your new life has bigger bookstores, and gorgeous clothes, and him…_

I shook my head at the thought of Tom being a pleasant, if not significant, part of my new life. No. He represented nothing but work and frustration to me. And sex. I could at least congratulate myself on not completely putting out for him. We’d been far more intimate than I was comfortable with – both our faults – but I still hadn’t offered myself up to him completely. My contract forbade it. My pride forbade it. I wasn’t going to be relegated to an easy lay, or a one-night stand, or a nameless addition to the long list of women he persuaded into his bed. Or wherever else he fucked his randoms. I took pride in myself and my work, and I was going to see this fucking contract through to the end – and trip up Hiddleston every chance I got.

Grabbing a late breakfast of a muffin, as well as my travel coffee mug, I threw my strangely quiet phone into my bag and headed downstairs, excited for a relaxing day of browsing and reading. As soon as I hit the front lobby of the apartment complex, my phone decided to remind me that today might not be relaxing. Quiet was not the order of the day.

_**Get my voicemails, darling?** _

I had really hoped the text was from Luke, so I wouldn’t have to spend a precious day off dealing with Prosper’s resident Prince Smarmy. Of course I wasn’t that lucky.

_Ignore him and he’ll just keep bothering you like last night._

But last night hadn’t been a bother. I’d gotten quite what I needed out of it, I smiled to myself. Not that he needed to know that. I ignored his question in my reply.

_**Did you need something?** _

I admired the sidewalk as I traveled to the bookstore. Watched people walking their cute little dogs, saw friends and lovers sitting in café windows sharing meals and good conversations. My pleasant, vague response must have thrown Tom, because he didn’t respond immediately. I didn’t think on it, and made my way into the bookshop, excited at the possibility of leaving with a stack of brand new books. I made a beeline for a display of recent new releases, scooping up a title that I’d been wanting to read for several months. Placing it neatly under my arm, I began to traverse through the entire store, reading book jackets, perusing sale bins, and collecting a nice little group of reads for purchase. While leafing through Ian McEwan’s latest, I noticed, out of the corner of my eye, someone standing a few feet from me, staring.

I waited for the person to move, but nothing happened. After deciding I had what I needed, I moved toward the checkout counter when said person cleared his throat.

“Excuse me…sorry,” he intoned quietly.

I turned to look at the source of the voice and was met with a rather attractive man, smiling tentatively at me. He was only slightly taller than me, and had blackish-brown hair. His eyes were dark, as well. I would have thought him mysterious but I could tell he was shy and rather…apprehensive about speaking to me. I responded kindly.

“Hello,” I smiled, still moving closer in line to checkout.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but,” he looked down at the floor for a second, clasping his hands behind his back. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re gorgeous. And I don’t mean this to be weird,” he backtracked, “but I was wondering if you’d let me take you out to dinner?”

_Well this never happens. Wow. Maybe I should just stay in the UK forever!_

I didn’t know what to say, so my mouth went with rote niceties. “My name’s Kate,” I murmured. I held out my hand for him to shake, and as he did so, I continued. “Thanks for the offer, but I don’t even know your name.” I gave a small laugh.

_God this is uncomfortable. But he’s very, very cute._

“Oh, god I’m sorry! My name’s Ian,” he replied. “I don’t want to sound weird but I know who you are, from the papers,” he faltered a little, probably wondering if he sounded like a stalker. “You’re kind of everywhere these days…” he trailed off.

_Ok this is adorable. He’s so nervous!_

I gave a genuine grin. “Yes, I am, unfortunately. Comes with the territory,” I continued. I was next in line to pay for my books, so I looked at Ian apologetically. “I’m so sorry. This will only take a moment.”

He nodded his understanding and moved to the entrance of the bookstore to wait for me.

_You might as well meet the guy for dinner. It doesn’t have to be anything serious. And you could do with some “civilian” life._

Ian looked to be regretting his query to me by the time I found him again, and seemed surprised that I was still talking to him.

“I’d love to meet you for dinner, Ian,” I said, exiting the shop as he held the door open for me. “Unfortunately, I’m a bit pressed for time and tonight is the only night I’d be available. Is that too soon?” I asked.

His eyes sparkled at my question. “No, no that’s perfect. There’s a pretty great informal Italian place called Zucca near Southwark, if you want to meet there later this evening…?” he looked at me hopefully as we walked down the sidewalk.

_Just enjoy yourself for one night, no strings attached, in the company of a handsome man._

“I’ll meet you there at 7, Ian. Nice to meet you,” I hugged him lightly.

As we separated, he looked me over appreciatively before agreeing to our arrangements. “I look forward to it,” he kissed my hand. “Until this evening.” And he left.

As he headed in the other direction, I smiled to myself at my good fortune – new books and a dinner date all garnered in the same afternoon! I hurried back to my apartment, wanting to have a nice long reading session on my couch. I could be lazy the rest of the day and then doll up in something relaxing but flattering for dinner out. Feeling pleased with myself, I entered my apartment.

The feeling vanished.

The _Trinity de Cartier_ winked at me from its velvet box.

My clothes from last evening sat, rumpled in a pile, near the laundry basket.

I hadn’t checked my phone since I’d left the apartment a few hours ago. I knew, instinctively, that someone – whether it was Luke or Tom or both – would have left me something. It was Tom, responding to my earlier text.

**_Need to go over some American visa paperwork with you. Also, packing lists. Are you free this evening?_ **

The extended shoot for _Skull Island_ would see him stateside for a long period of time. Luke had directed him to get the work visa taken care of as soon as he returned home, and he had.

Of course, I thought to myself, you would need my help this evening.

_And as his assistant, it’s your job to deliver on that request._

I ignored my professional responsibility.

_**I have plans this evening, actually. Is this something we can do tomorrow?** _

His responses were immediate.

_**Plans?** _

_**No. This needs finalized tonight. What plans?** _

I couldn’t tell if he was just intrigued or a little upset at my admission that I essentially had better things to do on a day off than cater to him. Either way, I had his attention. A tough thing to keep, if his “relationship habits” were anything to go by.

_**It’s my day off, Tom. I’d be happy to go over the documentation later tonight if you’ll just email any questions.** _

He didn’t respond, so after five minutes of staring impatiently at my phone, I finally threw it onto the couch and dug into my new stack of books. I spent the better part of the next three hours reading, occasionally getting up to stretch or make a snack or drink. It was nice, getting lost in another world momentarily, not worrying about the ridiculous aspects of my job.

I’d been so absorbed in my book that I hadn’t paid any attention to my phone. It wasn’t until I had started curling my hair and refreshing my makeup that I thought to check for a reply from Tom. Sure enough, he had responded to my last offer.

_**You really do insist on everything being on YOUR terms, don’t you?** _

I could practically hear the snark coming through the phone. Of course he didn’t like being dictated to – he was one of the most famous and recognizable faces in the entertainment world. People would probably lie down and die for him, if he asked.

_Not I, darling man. I may work for you, but I’m not your slave, remember?_

I felt brave.

_**Take it or leave it. I have a date to get ready for…** _

Perhaps too much information, but I wanted him to know that life, for me, existed apart from his massive ego and ridiculous changes in temperament. This new knowledge seemed to inflame him. His response was rapid-fire.

_**Where are you going?** _

_This should be entertaining. Doesn’t he have someone to fuck instead of worrying about what I’m doing?_

_**Out.** _

I giggled softly to myself, dressing and putting on a spritz of perfume.

_**Dinner? Dancing? Theatre?** _

Was that the sound of wheels I heard, turning in his head? Ridiculous.

_**Dinner. Like I said, email me the visa info with your questions. Have a good night.** _

I was tempted to stow my phone in my bag, but really wanted to know what his response would be to my “shut down” of the conversation. He was apparently very riled.

_**Dinner WHERE?** _

_Success._

Dropping my iPhone in my oversize clutch, I locked my door, headed downstairs, and hailed a cab for Zucca’s.

___________________________________________________________________________________________

A small smile spread on my face as I sped toward Southwark in the taxi; the promise of a tasteful dinner with an attractive man not in the spotlight was very enticing to me. I reminded myself that it was still my day off, and the only person I had to focus on was me…and Ian. I thought again about his dark, handsome looks – his eyes, his hair – and liked him all the more when I realized he was the polar opposite of Tom. I had only spoken with him for a few minutes but I felt that Ian was a gentleman, most likely a good person. He wasn’t an actor whose sole purpose in life was to be adored.

I was anxious to share a meal with him and talk about his life. What did he do? Did he enjoy books like I did?

But then I realized I didn’t even know his last name. He’d told me nothing else about himself. Just that he “knew” me and wanted to take me to a random Italian restaurant in London.

_This is how a horror film starts._

I decided to play it safe and texted both Nic and Luke, letting them know I was out on a date and if they didn’t hear from me, I was probably either kidnapped and held against my will in a sex dungeon, or dead in the woods.

_**On a date at Zucca’s tonight. If you don’t hear from me by midnight, call me.** _

Nic responded just before the cab pulled up outside the restaurant.

_**Get it, girl. Be safe!** _

Luke responded moments later, but his message was a little less positive.

_**Enjoy. I know you’re off the clock but keep your phone nearby. I might need to bounce some things off of you...** _

Sighing at the prospect of working during my dinner date, I paid the cabbie and exited the car, spotting Ian waiting right outside the entrance with a big smile on his face.

_He looks handsome…_

He was dressed slightly better than when I’d met him earlier in the day, sporting a white dress shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a pair of dark dress pants. As soon as I got close enough, he held out his hand for me to take and ushered me into the restaurant with a flourish, hugging me in his arms as soon as we were in the entryway.

“You look marvelous, Kate,” he smiled. He signaled for a table for two and we were ushered quickly through the modern, white-walled dining room. Candles were lit on each table and the entire restaurant had a fresh, romantic feeling to it. I felt myself relaxing to the tinkle of wine glasses and the sound of cutlery against dishes.

“I appreciate your invitation, Ian,” I said wholeheartedly. “It’s not often I get time like this to relax, which reminds me,” I grimaced, “I’m sort of on-call this evening with my boss. So I’m sorry if I have to take a call or two. Is that okay?”

He waved his hand in a good-natured, dismissive wave as he perused his menu. “Not a problem. I understand your industry is a 24/7 job!”

I sighed dramatically and we both had a laugh.

Looking over the menu, I was dismayed when my phone buzzed. I had left the vibrate function on so that when Luke tried to contact me I would know. If he needed me this evening I couldn’t be ignoring him. That wasn’t part of the deal.

“I’m so sorry, Ian, I need to check this really quickly. Would you like to order for me?” He nodded, with a wink, as I went digging through my bag for my phone. I hadn’t missed a call, as the phone only vibrated for a short moment. Text from Luke, probably.

But it wasn’t Luke. I could feel the color draining from my face when I read the message.

_**Zucca’s for a first date? Bit lowbrow, don’t you think?** _

_How in the FUCK does he know where I am?_

It wasn’t until I heard Ian ordering for me that I realized I had given away my nighttime plans when I’d texted Luke in the car.

_Shit._

Before I had time to even think of a response, let alone whether to even engage in Tom’s conversation, he’d sent another.

**_What are you wearing? Has he tried to touch you?_ **

I saw red, immediately, at the brazenness of Tom’s tone. My hands started to shake.

“Are you okay, Kate?” queried Ian. I looked up to find his face full of concern, handing our menus to the server. I regrouped, plastering a smile on my face and excusing myself to the ladies’ room. “I’ll only be one second, Ian. I’m so sorry…”

A text wasn’t going to send enough of a forceful message to Tom. I had to nip this in the bud before it got any worse. I called him. He didn’t answer. His phone rang, and rang, and rang. Finally voicemail picked up. I wasn’t in the mood to play patient. As quietly as I could, in the women’s restroom, I left my reply.

“I don’t know why the _fuck_ you’re interested in what I’m doing this evening, Hiddleston, but it’s none of your _DAMN_ business! My phone is on for one reason only – in case Luke needs to contact me – and I am not responding to any more of your messages. If you need my help with the visa paperwork, email me or you can wait until tomorrow!”

I mashed my finger onto the red “end call” button and exited the restroom, making my way back to Ian. I took several deep, steadying breaths as I walked so he wouldn’t see how upset I was.

“Everything okay?” He looked at me with concern. I smiled and nodded, and proceeded to ask Ian questions about himself and his life, trying to ignore my phone. But new text messages started popping up – none from Luke Windsor.

_**I bet you’re bored. He’s not in the industry, is he?** _

_**I hope you’re wearing the** _ **Trinity de Cartier** _**so he can see you’re already attached…** _

I tried my best to avoid looking at my phone, continually locking it and refocusing on Ian and our conversation, but every time I thought Tom would stop sending texts, another would pop up. Ian was none the wiser as to who was on the other end.

“Wow, uh…work seems pretty busy for you this evening,” he said pointedly as our entrees arrived. He didn’t seem irritated, but I could tell he was disappointed. I felt terrible.

_**Had I taken you to dinner I would have paid for the entire restaurant to be closed to the public…** _

“I’m so, so sorry, yes,” I reached out to squeeze Ian’s hand. “Work this evening has taken some sort of…turn.” I chewed a bite of food, tasting nothing. I suddenly lost my appetite as my phone kept buzzing.

_**…and insisted that you wear nothing but the** _ **Trinity de Cartier** _**at the table.** _

I signaled to our waiter to refill my wine glass, then attempted to reignite the conversation Ian and I had started earlier. I asked about his work, and he told me he was a writer. He started in on an explanation of the book he’d been attempting to write for several months.

And Tom just kept going.

_**I would feed you, sweet girl…each bite.** _

_**And I would tell you how lovely your mouth looked with each swallow of wine you took…** _

My irritation grew, but I couldn’t stop reading each message that he sent. I was trying my hardest to be polite and engaging to Ian, but I was angry with Tom, and fast becoming very aroused – to my chagrin – at the idea of this fantasy dinner he was illustrating for me.

“Do you, um…do you need to leave?” Ian asked, after he’d noticed my phone had gone off several times and I was barely eating.

“No, it’s…I’m fine, it’s just…”I was embarrassed at my rudeness and upset that such a wonderful evening was quickly taking a turn for the worst. “I’m sorry about this. It won’t happen again.” I forced my tone to be firm and turned my phone over so I couldn’t see Tom’s continual litany of messages. The dialogue between my “date” and myself had evaporated quickly into nothing. I was trying to summon enough hunger to actually eat, and Ian had finished and was looking around at the other patrons in the restaurant.

His attention snapped back to our table when my phone continued buzzing. He looked at me, exasperation finally painted on his face. I was mid-sip, downing my third glass of merlot. “Are you going to check that?” There was a slight frost to his tone of voice.

“No. No I’m not.” I returned the wine glass to the table and picked up my fork again, fighting the urge to flip over my phone.

_What else could the asshole POSSIBLY text me? Jesus._

“Because you really look like you want to check whatever’s on there,” Ian continued. He placed his napkin alongside his cleaned plate. I could barely meet his eyes as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. “I understand about work, but,” he paused with a grimace, “this seems less like work and more like you’re having it out with someone.”

I almost choked on the bite of pasta I was eating, rushing to explain myself to Ian yet again. “No, really…it’s…it’s nothing. It is work,” I continued, lamely.

My phone buzzed again, a reminder that I hadn’t checked whatever Tom had sent most recently.

_Fuck it._

I tossed down my fork, swiping my phone up off the table and unlocking it.

_**And then I would spread you out on top of our table and make my own feast of you** _

_**Until you begged me to have you there and then…** _

_He’s not going to stop this._

Pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers, I sighed a shuddering breath, fighting equal parts growing arousal and indignation.

“Right, then,” exclaimed Ian a little too loudly. “Thanks for the…well it wasn’t too lovely, so I guess thanks for the evening,” he continued, ugly sarcasm coloring his voice. Standing up from the table, he threw some bank notes down near my plate forcefully. “This should take care of mine.”

I watched him walk all the way out of the restaurant, ignoring my phone and the curious onlookers who sat around me. I would have cried, but my vision was starting to cloud with fury. I threw down my own set of bills, grabbing my things and heading for the exit to catch a cab back home – alone. Still, my phone kept on.

_**You know how much pleasure I can give you, sweet girl…** _

_**Why look for it elsewhere?** _

I was in the cab when some of the tears started dropping.

_All I wanted was a nice evening, no bribery, no deception. Just a nice guy. And the only guy I can get is a cheating womanizer who lies through his fucking teeth._

The irony wasn’t lost on me that had I not texted Luke, he never would have told me to keep my phone nearby; Tom would have never found out about where I was and what I was doing. I may have ended up having a wonderful evening. I had unknowingly sabotaged my own date.

_Pathetic._

This thought had me quietly sobbing in the back of the cab, to the point that the driver had to gently, apologetically alert me when we’d arrived back at my address. Sniffling, trying to pull myself together, I thanked the man and paid my fare. Getting out of the car, I decided to finally respond to Tom. I had been quiet all evening, not rising to his messaged taunts. I tapped out my reply as I entered through the revolving door and approached the bank of elevators.

_**Because despite offering me everything, you offer me NOTHING.** _

The message sent as soon as the elevator doors slid shut in front of me. I turned my phone off. No silencing, just off. I wanted this horrible day – my day off – to be over. I was tired of being harassed.

If Luke needed me, he could send the goddamn police in their squad cars along with some firemen to hack my fucking door down.

The beginnings of a migraine were teasing behind my eyelids and I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ease the tightness of the muscles there. Head drooping down, I watched my progress along the lushly carpeted hallway until I neared my door. My eyes were drawn to a pair of very dapper shoes crossed at the ankles, connected to two very long legs encased in navy blue fitted dress pants.

_For the love of Jesus H. Christ._

Tom Hiddleston was leaning against my apartment door, phone in hand, waiting for me.


	8. No Ribbons Attached

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate and Tom attempt outing number two, to distract from his continual bad behavior; Kate comes into her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving this story, you guys. Want to keep thanking people for reading…you're all great!

“What do you mean I offer you _‘nothing’,_ sweet girl?” He smiled lazily at me and moved away from my door so I could enter my apartment.

I didn’t even answer him. I was too angry, too annoyed, too upset that I’d just been ditched on a date and now had to contend with the primary cause, right at my doorstep.

Unlocking my door, I looked up in his smug face so he could see the tear tracks coursing down my cheeks. He didn’t even have the good taste to look contrite about having caused them. Instead, he made to follow me inside.

_I’ll be damned if you get one step further, asshole._

“Do you have your visa paperwork?” I shoved my hand against his chest so he couldn’t clear the threshold of my door.

“No, darling. I was just waiting for you to return home from your _date.”_ He said that last word with clear sarcasm, looking down at my palm splayed across the broad expanse of his chest. He smiled again. I gave him a little push and he stumbled backward slightly.

“I mightn’t have come home if it wasn’t for you!” I snarled. “I would have had a lovely evening with a real man instead of dealing with the idiotic precociousness of a 34 year-old man who regularly acts like he’s 14!”

As I stepped back to slam the door in Tom’s face, he placed one expensive leather shoe into the doorjamb and stopped it from closing.

“I’m glad you came home _darling,”_ and he forced his way into my foyer, closing and locking the door behind him.

I was enraged that he continued to take such liberties with my personal space and my feelings, with no sign of stopping. He even felt comfortable enough to make himself feel at home, walking into my living room and stretching out on my couch. Recoiling in disbelief and disgust, I threw my bag down and began yelling at him.

“I’m not your darling, you selfish _ass!_ If you don’t have any work-related items for me to see to, you’d best get yourself out of my apartment, because I am about to make two phone calls. The first will be to the police, whom I will notify regarding your forced entry, stalking, and harassment. The second will be to Luke, who will also believe the same very convincing performance once I break down on the phone. Don’t think you’re the only good ‘actor’ around here!”

I expected the threats would shut him up. They did the opposite, and he made himself even more comfortable on my couch after my tirade ended.

“Did you happen to get your date’s full name, sweet girl?” He looked at me with a concern that almost seemed genuine, but I knew better at this point.

“What? Why is this any of your business?” My mind was reeling at all the possible directions in which this conversation was headed.

“Oh, sweet girl. It’s my business to know when my personal assistant is in the _wrong hands,”_ he purred. He suddenly began tapping on his phone, scrolling through what I assumed were probably sexts or all of his appointments with different women on different continents.

_Ugh._

“Here,” he handed me his phone. “Look familiar?”

I was too curious to not take the bait. But as soon as I did, glancing down at his phone, I wished I hadn’t. My stomach lurched.

There was Ian’s picture, but his name wasn’t the same.

_It’s definitely him, though. What the hell?_

I was staring at an article “Ian” had apparently written – he had at least told me the partial truth about his career as a writer, I guess – for the gossip magazine he worked for.

“Your male friend is a reporter, sweet girl.”

_No. No, no, NO! This was a setup. A fucking SETUP._

I tossed the phone back at Tom, feeling even more tears welling in my eyes.

“How the hell did you even know who I was with, Tom?” I spat. Forget looking nonchalant; I was crying freely and staring at him accusingly.

“I went to Zucca when I heard from Luke where you were to make sure you weren’t in any harm,” he answered, pocketing his phone. “And lo and behold, you’re sitting with one of the members of the press who loves to eviscerate my name in print every chance he gets. His name is Mark Davidson. Usually writes, as you just saw, for _Shhh! News_.”

My brain put two and two together remarkably fast.

_He knew you worked with Tom and probably wanted to get some inside information._

I wasn’t sure whether to be angry with Tom for following me or to be thankful that he had checked up on me, concerned for my safety. He saw potential danger and ended the date for me, essentially.

_But is he really concerned for YOUR safety? Or for the information you might have passed on to Ia–Mark…whatever the hell his name is?_

I was ashamed at my trusting nature, embarrassed that I had placed myself and my job at risk by accepting a dinner invitation from someone I knew nothing about.

_Normal people do it all the time._

But my current job, this life I’d become involved in, wasn’t normal. I sighed deeply, wanting nothing more than to change my clothes, pour myself a drink, and make Tom leave. The quickest way to do that was to make sure his visa situation was taken care of and then he would go. I looked at him with tired, reluctant eyes.

“Do you have anything I need to work on or go over for your work visa? If so, let’s do this now. It’s going to be an early night for me.” I wasn’t even angry with him anymore. I was functioning on autopilot, amazed that my day off had gone from marvelous to awkwardly awful.

“Paperwork is all done, Kate,” Tom said softly. “I sent it off a couple of hours ago.” He stood up, seeming to take his leave.

I snorted my surprise inelegantly. “Wow,” I said. “You actually can fend for yourself.”

He turned and looked at me with serious, sincere eyes. “I can, but I like having you with me to help me,” he said softly. Stepping back toward me, he reached out and took my hand, stroking his thumb against my knuckles.

_And there it is again. The charm act._

“Stop it,” I yanked my hand back. “You’ve come here to tell me what you needed me to hear, so you can leave.” I pointed to my door. He didn’t budge. I felt like his eyes were undressing me.

“I came here to ensure you were okay and that you knew the truth, lovely. I don’t want anything to happen to you,” his voice played at earnestness. He began walking closer to me again. I backed up.

“Why would you care if anything happens to me? All you and Luke have to do is replace me, which shouldn’t be too hard,” I scoffed. “And upon further reflection, that might as well happen now since I’m such a fucking idiot at doing my work.” My back hit the edge of the couch, and I found myself extremely close to Tom, towering over me. His arms shot around my waist and pulled me to him. I wanted to struggle but I was tired, very sad, and he felt and smelled so good.

He leaned down until his lips were inches from mine, and then he whispered his last words of the evening to me.

“Because you’re mine, Kate.” And he sealed the statement with a warm, aching kiss.

He made no move to touch any other part of me besides splaying his large hands across my back. His tongue demanded no entrance; it was as chaste a kiss as he was capable of giving. And I ashamedly allowed myself to melt into it. I weakened when I felt and heard his soft hum of approval at my taste and willingness.

He pulled away, seeming reluctant to do so, and walked to my door to show himself out. Before he left, he turned back to look at me and nodded, as if to say, “I mean what I said.” I didn’t move from my spot against the couch until I heard the sound of the elevator arriving down the hallway, and I knew he had gone.

 

 

As demented as it sounded, I was glad to return to work the next day. My one, hard-earned day off had ended abysmally, and I knew the distractions of Prosper would help me forget about my bad judgment, my failed date, and yet another confusing confrontation with Tom. I knew in my heart he could actually be a kind person, but I wasn’t stupid enough to think that he was someone capable of real emotion, or of trust and loyalty. But every time we were together – or if I even heard his voice – some primal part of me turned onto him and ignored the fact that he had standard “famous person” issues.

I wasn’t a shrink, by any means, but I could guess at a few things based on what I’d learned about my sole client:

_Middle child._

_Dire need for father’s approval._

_Desperate to prove himself after being handed everything._

_Emotional issues…unwillingness to open up or attach – child of divorce._

His serial womanizing was par for the course in his profession, I had to admit. But I figured he wasn’t the best looking as a teenager, or a young man, and all the attention he was getting from women these days probably wasn’t going to go ignored. He was making up for lost time, it seemed. I parsed these ideas in between completing the myriad small tasks Luke had assigned me for the day, and it wasn’t until we’d all broken for lunch that Nic asked me about my date.

“You never did text me to say you were okay, silly girl! I was half worried you were being stuffed in a bin in someone’s backyard, but also half hopeful you were having the greatest sex of your life,” she laughed.

I knew she was being sweet and while I appreciated her asking after me, I just went ahead and plowed through the events of the last evening. She seemed disappointed for me.

“So, wait…Tom followed you and staked you out at the restaurant?” she asked incredulously. I downplayed it. No need to get the office talking about a potential romance any more than the outside world already was.

“I think he had…concerns…for my safety. Apparently this Mark guy has given him trouble before,” I explained. She nodded, but seemed bemused by Tom’s actions. I had the feeling she wanted to ask me something, but just then a delivery service left a small, nondescript box on my desk.

“Ooh!” Nicole was her normal interested self. I giggled quietly at her reaction.

A small card on the outside of the box had a short, typed message.

 

 

_**Do not open until you arrive home.** _

_**Tom** _

 

“Who’s it from? Is it from Tom?” Nicole’s voice started to get louder and I motioned for her to shush. I didn’t need any more scrutiny than I already had. The entire office knew I worked solely on his behalf now; they didn’t need to know anything else.

“I wonder what it is?” Nic queried. She was definitely hoping I would open the box there, I could tell. I made up some story about how he had ordered some things for me from the States that would remind me of home. I tried to make him seem the sympathetic gentleman that so many people thought he was. I knew better. I also knew that he wouldn’t be so kind as to send me goodies from home. He didn’t bother to know me well enough to figure out what I liked – in any area of my life except for the physical.

_And even THAT hasn’t gone all the way, thank fuck._

I placed the box under my desk, wanting to divert any interested parties away from its presence, and moved toward Luke’s office for our usual post-lunch briefing. It was becoming a routine we had, at least when he was in. And since Tom had been photographed fucking Bikini Beach Bimbo, Luke was working overtime and briefing me every few hours, it seemed.

Bless him, the boss man didn’t seem any worse for wear when I went in. But he seemed very contrite when he saw me. I braced for whatever was coming.

“I’m just going to say it. You know what’s happened lately and I’m going to need you to run interference again. Same concept: you and Tom on another outing.” I groaned.

_More cameras, more uncomfortable tension, more fakery on his part._

“Can’t you just castrate him?” I supplied weakly.

“He’s insured. And unfortunately, as crass as it sounds, his dick is a big part of his appeal,” he laughed.

_Yes it is._

“Well, Luke, this is my job now, full-time Tom,” I responded. “If you want me to do this again, I get to choose where and when, like last time.” He nodded. I saw him visibly relax as he realized I would once again go along with our ridiculously successful PR plan.

It amazed me how people ate up the interaction between Tom and me. It was as if their brains were wiped (press included) and they momentarily forgot about his ravenous sexual appetite and his questionable decision-making skills.

“I want to go shopping for a new dress, and I want to go to the opera. Find me the best seats. I can deal with as many cameras in my face as you want, but I’m going out with our little troublemaker and I’m doing it in style.”

He nodded as I moved back toward his office door, mouthed a “thanks”, and began placing calls, I assumed, for tickets and paparazzi. I wasn’t sure in which order he would make them.

Luke shot me a text after I’d returned to my desk, letting me know I could leave for the day.

_**You have two tickets for** _ **Turandot** _**at the Royal Opera House this evening. Go have fun in Harrods; I’ll text you credit card info. Tom will be along to get you at 8.** _

Nic watched me in confusion as I grabbed my bag and the mystery box under my desk. I winked at her. “I have another work engagement this evening,” I stuck my tongue out at her. She blew me a kiss, mouthed “lucky bitch”, and waved me away.

_See? It’s not all bad, being used by Tom Hiddleston. You get to go shopping and get your culture on._

I had fallen very far, indeed, to be able to accept that idea.

 

 

Harrods was a madhouse, as usual, but I hummed the melody of "Nessun Dorma" happily as I made quick work of my shopping list. I may not have had much money in my previous life, but I always believed in good taste.

A Roland Mouret black and white Lilyvick gown was the order for the evening, followed by a pair of jet black J-String Christian Louboutins.

_I’ll be almost as tall as him tonight. Let’s see how he likes that._

Gathering my packages after I paid, I made my way outside to find a cab and get home for a nice long soak in my tub before going on my second not-date with the charming asshole.

I decided to text him, for once, and get ahead of whatever fuckery he would have planned once he learned of our next “impromptu” outing.

_**Just been to Harrods. You’re taking me out this evening.** _

It was as if he’d been waiting to hear from me, he responded so quickly.

_**Oh I’ve heard, sweet girl.** _ **Turandot** _**? Excellent choice.** _

And then…

_**Did you open your package yet?** _

I played coy.

_**Might have.** _

He knew better, and had I known, in hindsight, what was in the box, I would have responded to that question differently.

_**Oh, Kate, trust me. I’ll know when you’ve opened it.** _

I said nothing else, wanting to keep my wits about me until I’d opened the box and seen what he’d sent. I had no idea – it could be anything. It wouldn’t do to open the box in the taxi, so I settled for tapping my foot impatiently as the driver wove his way through central London. I had to admit, I was excited for the evening. I wasn’t nervous at the thought of going out with Tom – he was easy on the eyes at the very least and would give me his arm so I wouldn’t make an ass of myself and fall down (or up, in my case) any stairs. I had already been photographed out with him and no longer felt complete panic at the idea. And I got to wear a killer dress and gorgeous shoes.

_Things you no longer have to pay back!_

By the time I’d made it back to my apartment, my good mood had been bolstered by an epiphany I’d had in the taxi – we were going to see _Turandot_ , of all the operas, and I was going to be the living embodiment of the cold, calculating princess, the daughter of Turan. The woman who challenged potential suitors with riddles, who let men die in favor of her own freedom. It was as good a sign as any that tonight’s outing was meant to be.

Running a steaming bath for myself, I draped the Mouret dress carefully across my bed and placed the shoebox on my dresser, where the Cartier box sat patiently waiting.

_I think tonight’s a night for the Trinity de Cartier, too._

When I could wait no longer, and the bath still had inches to fill, I tore into Tom’s mysterious gift. A pink box.

_Agent Provocateur._

So he had bought me lingerie. Why did I expect him to be tasteful? He showed no tact or restraint with women he barely knew, so this wasn’t a surprise. I opened the box anyway, interested at the lacy, silky garments within. He spared no expense.

_Huh._

_A sheer black corset, covered in lacy, tiny hooks._

_Soft, satin black underwear with a variety of straps and scalloped lace edges._

_Black lace garters._

_And a brand new pair of sheer black thigh-high stockings_.

I recalled his previous text and knew he would expect me to be outraged at his forward behavior. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. Plus, everything would look phenomenal under my evening gown. And he would have to sit beside me all evening wondering whether I was wearing any of it. I was about to text him something clever and evasive but I noticed an additional note from him hidden under the tissue paper of the box.

 

 

_**Many thanks for your acquiescence to assist me in preparation of my working visa.** _

_**Tom** _

 

He was using a non-existent work transaction between us to justify the purchase of very expensive lingerie?

_What an idiot._

Once again, he just threw money at people hoping that gifts would suffice in place of real human gratitude, respect, and emotion. I texted him, bored by his continual show of callow behavior.

_**So if I get you an Oscar, what does that earn me? A car? The deed to your house? Lingerie is so gauche.** _

I hoped he thought I hated it, but it was all rather beautiful.

_**If you get me an Oscar, I’ll give you anything you want  ;)** _

My words to him from the previous day echoed in my head.

“You offer me NOTHING.”

I left the phone where I stood and retreated into the bathroom for my long soak, determined to wear each piece of the lingerie to the opera, where I would be every bit as cool and calculating at the Princess Turandot.

 

 

He was actually waiting in the lobby downstairs when I got off the elevator. I took care to sway my hips ever so slightly, feeling confidence at the _clack, clack_ of my sky-high stilettos and the elegant sweep of my gown. Pretending not to see him right away, I gently brushed away a strand of my loosely pinned hair and flashed a blinding smile at the doorman.

“Good evening, James,” I flirted.

“Hello, Miss Michael,” he breathed, clearly smitten with my appearance. He saw Tom and then nodded in his direction while looking back at me. “Headed out for the evening?”

I locked eyes with Tom the instant I replied to James’ question.

“Nothing terribly exciting. Just work. Have a good night, James.” I never heard his reply. I was too busy taking in the stricken look on Tom’s face.

He was trying to hide it the closer I got to him, so I felt fairly sure he wasn’t putting on an act for my sake.

_You weren’t even this dressed up in the Lanvin at the Tate gala. Maybe he’ll drop dead!_

“Evening, Hiddleston. Let’s go get your bad name out of the press, shall we?” I pushed past him through the revolving door and he had no choice but to follow me, eyes slightly wide, until he was able to get in front of me and usher me into the waiting car. He started to recover from his surprise at my confident appearance because I could practically see the “charm” turn back on.

“Oh, Kate, you look–”

I slid into the car and shut the door before he could finish his phrase.

_Princess Turandot. You are Princess Turandot._

He folded himself into the car and scooted closer to where I sat, attempting a second flattery-drenched compliment to try and melt me. “You look divine, this evening, lovely,” his voice dropped.

Although an imperceptible shudder ran through me – I definitely had a kink for this man’s voice – I kept my cool veneer and turned to face him, my expression a mask of professional courtesy.

“I’m aware. I can dress myself up when needed. It’s not like we’re going to the _Eye,”_ I replied. I hoped this little jab would remind him of his romantic gesture that evening that had only led to my confused feelings of betrayal.

“Are you familiar with Turandot?” he asked, attempting to get back in my good graces with appropriate conversation. I flashed him a flirtatious smile, visibly catching him off guard, and answered.

“‘Nessun Dorma’ never fails to bring me to tears. Most beautiful piece of music…” I mused. I looked out the window. “At least I get to do things I like every time Luke thinks you fuck up.”

He said nothing. I doubted he felt shame.

We were silent during the journey to the Royal Opera House. I checked my phone, responded to a few emails, and had a short text conversation with Luke, ignoring Tom all the while. I could see him fidgeting with his hands out of the corner of my eye.

“Can I usher you out of the car?” he asked quietly, some minutes later.

_Yes, wouldn’t want the cameras to get the wrong idea, would we?_

“Of course. I know how you must need those photographers to get the right impression,” I responded lightly. As I said this, I lightly fluffed the thigh-high slit in my gown, revealing the top of my black stocking. He probably didn’t mean for me to hear the small gasp that escaped him.

_Yeah, fuck you and your impending boner!_

I was really embracing my “princess of ice” role because I leaned forward and thanked the driver sincerely, sweetly, when we arrived at the venue, lightly touching him on the shoulder in appreciation, completely ignoring Tom.

This apparently irritated him so much that in a huff, he exited the car.

_This feeling of satisfaction you’ve got going right now – breathe it in. Fucking OWN it when you get out of this car._

I looked at Tom with such intensity, playing to him and the cameras as I got out of the car, that his eyes widened just a tiny fraction. In full view of the press and other opera attendees, I placed my hand on Tom’s back and leaned my face into his neck to whisper in his ear. Everyone probably thought we were exchanging an intimate moment.

“I’m only holding onto you so I don’t fall on my face in these shoes and give every man here a show,” I purred, smiling venomously at him.

He played along, holding out his arm and smiling graciously at me.

_I hope you’re thinking about all the men looking at me, you dishonest lout._

We meandered carefully toward the entrance, Tom occasionally waving or nodding to people he knew. I kept a tight hold on him but never looked his way again. I was too busy strutting through the crowd and savoring the appreciative looks of the many men in attendance.

Tom was noticing, too. And noticing.

“Good lord, darling,” he growled lowly. “All eyes are indeed on _you.”_

I laughed quietly, a soft noise in the back of my throat. “I’m just _the help_ , Thomas. Remember? And I’m doing this so people can forget about you bare-backing some foolish woman on the beach a few days ago.”

We had reached one of the ushers inside the building and Tom pleasantly greeted the man, handing him our tickets. The older gentleman visibly startled at the sight of me.

“Forgive me sir, but I must say, your companion is looking very alluring tonight,” he said, ushering us down into the center orchestra stalls.

I didn’t give Tom the chance to respond.

“Oh, sir, thank you,” I blushed graciously. “But I’m actually on the clock with him this evening. It’s for our _business.”_

The gentleman wasn’t deterred in his praise. “Well, at any rate, my dear, you’re the loveliest woman I’ve seen all evening. You remind me of my daughter,” he trailed off nostalgically.

I leaned forward to place a light kiss on the man’s cheek. “Bless you.”

And with a swoop of my gown, I sat in my seat and waited for Tom to accept that he wasn’t the center of anyone’s attention anymore. I crossed my legs so a slight portion of my upper thigh was visible – to Tom only – and began to look around as people took their seats and lowered their voices to hushed tones. The lights began to dim.

As the first act started, Tom leaned over and spoke the only words he would say to me during the entirety of the performance.

“Are you wearing _all_ of the Provocateur?”

I tilted my head prettily to the side, entranced by the oriental scene before me, and whispered my reply.

“That’s not for you to know.”

 

It wasn’t difficult for me to ignore the one and only Tom Hiddleston sitting beside me all evening, because I allowed myself to become lost in the story of Princess Turandot and her clever suitor, the unknown prince Calaf. I let Puccini’s gorgeous melodies wash over me, tearing up at particularly emotional moments; I absentmindedly fiddled with the _Trinity de Cartier_ clasped around my neck when I became invested in Princess Turandot’s fate.

Tom was restless. I felt it. I felt his nervous energy, his agitation. He had a hard time keeping his attention on the singers, on the lush scenery and the lavish costumes.

_Once again, in your presence, he’s all hot and bothered._ _Too bad you’re interchangeable to him._

The thought no longer pestered me. I was enjoying an evening out, looking fantastic, and I wasn’t going to let him affect me anymore. He was my work. It was as clear-cut as that.

When the familiar strains of “Nessun Dorma” began, I could feel goosebumps rising on every inch of my flesh. Particularly beautiful music always had a very visceral effect on me; I had come prepared and discreetly took out my father’s old handkerchiefs from my clutch. As the song progressed, I gently dabbed at the tears welling in my eyes.

_Gorgeous, gorgeous orchestrations. Simply lovely._

I finally elected to pay Tom a slight bit of attention as the last act ended, a standing ovation was awarded to the principal cast, and the curtain fell. He was staring. I stood, gracefully gathering my gown in one hand and my evening bag in the other. He remained seated.

“What?” I asked.

He shook his head, a half-smile appearing on his face as he looked at me.

“You are – immensely interesting to me. Doing this job, previously being a professor of literature, being so absorbed by opera…” he trailed off. “Watching you watch this was almost as fascinating as the opera itself.”

I sniffed, shaking my head at him and shrugging my shoulders.

“Interesting people exist in this world, Tom. We can’t all be gorgeous and vapid, making millions of dollars to play in front of cameras for a living,” I countered.

He stood up, immediately responding to my quip in a wounded tone. “Yes, well, you were happy to play in front of the cameras tonight, again, weren’t you?”

_Unbelievable. This is his defense mechanism?_

“I played because you can’t seem to _sate_ yourself and control your spoiled, egotistical urges,” I whispered tersely as we traversed through the milling crowd toward our exit. “If you don’t want me in your life, dolled up and enjoying live entertainment so people can get photos of us together, then you need to either read up on monogamy or join the priesthood.”

Soon spotting our car, I quickened my pace so that I walked alone, ahead of Tom. I enjoyed how vindicated and regal I felt, savored the smiles and stares as people watched me pass. I may have just been an assistant, a foil for Tom Hiddleston’s insecure actions, but I very well felt like the lady of the moment.

_Make him suffer. How dare he accuse you of being a famewhore!_

I got to the car well before he did and made a show of opening my own door. Before Tom could get in, I asked our driver to return us first to my place, so that there would be no question about whether or not I was headed to Hampstead.

_I’ll be damned if I set foot in that place voluntarily ever again._

Just to bother Tom all the more when he finally got settled in the backseat with me, I began slowly removing the pins from my hair, placing each removed pin between my lips as I combed my fingers through the soft waves of blond cascading down my back.

“It’s a shame that I won’t be able to see the smooth nape of your little neck with your hair down, now,” he intoned.

“What a shame, indeed. Although with your attention span I’m sure you can focus on the shiny _Trinity de Cartier_ , though.”

_Suck on that, bastard._

And then, on second thought, I figured I would just put it all out there. I was feeling very, very uninhibited.

“Speaking of which, I’ve pretty much figured out you footed the bill for the _Cartier,”_ I began. “And I’m wondering how many of Luke’s other purchases for me have actually been on your behalf.”

He froze, not expecting me to be so forward. I shook out my hair and then dropped the hairpins into my clutch, staring at him pointedly. I slipped out of my Louboutins and continued my line of questioning.

“And why are you so up and down with me? So dishonest? I mean, you can be that way with everyone else but as your personal, _personal_ assistant, I expected a little more from you, you know?”

He just kept gaping at me, not knowing what to say. So I kept on.

“And those ridiculous tears in the car after our trip to the Eye? You really do deserve an Oscar, don’t you?”

That was the last straw for him. He attempted to place a palm on my knee, but I moved my leg away and continued my tirade.

“Compromising me sexually the first night we met so I could keep my job? Calling me and leaving me lewd messages after you basically imprisoned me naked in your bathroom? Harassing me on a date and following me there and back home?”

“Darling, I–” he began, looking at me with pleading eyes.

_Fuck you._

“No, Tom. Not _darling,”_ I continued. “Sending me lingerie? Accusing me of being some sort of fame-seeker this evening? I could say the same about all the pussy you partake in–”

“ENOUGH!” He yelled.

_Am I supposed to be scared, posh boy?_

I laughed at him.

“Tell you what, Mr. Hiddleston,” I sneered. “Since it’s the only thing I know you’ll respond to, I’ll make you a deal.”

His expression turned into a puzzled frown.

“You come back to my apartment, and for every one of my questions you answer, I’ll remove a piece of my clothing. That seems like something you’ll respond to,” I spat.

I knew he would bite.

“And what happens when you run out of clothing to remove, sweet girl?” he leered.

I cocked an eyebrow. “Then I guess I have to stop asking questions and you get to go home alone.”


	9. The Amazing Undateable Woman, Take II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, dear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got some good, good oral sex for ya. Also, Kate has a bad day in this one.  
> Love you guys for reading…my email is blowing up with your comments and EVERYONE is making my day(s).

Roland Mouret gown.

Left heel.

Right heel.

Left stocking.

Right stocking.

Garter belt.

Corset.

Panties.

And the _Trinity de Cartier_.

I had nine questions that I could ask Tom before I was completely naked in front of him. He would still be completely clothed, seemingly in control of the situation, but I would have the answers I so desperately needed after the last several chaotic months.

I looked at his handsome face, looking at me, expecting me to begin peeling the layers away. My normally introverted self was gone. I had his attention – for however long it would last – and elected to use it to my advantage.

“You remember our terms?” I asked sternly.

He held up both hands in mock defeat, earnestness painting his face.

“I will answer your questions truthfully, until you’re completely bare before me,” he responded. His voice held no hint of amusement, just…resignation at what was about to happen.

_Perhaps he will be relieved to get some things off his chest, too. Or he’s just going to lie to you through his teeth._

I carefully undid the Mouret gown and let it pool on the floor at my feet. He took in the entirety of my _Provocateur_ -clad body and nodded in appreciation of what he saw, returning his gaze to my eyes.

_He really is handsome. Shame he’s such a dick._

“Why would you agree to this ridiculous scheme with Luke?”

I had asked a loaded question on purpose, one that encompassed a lot of things: the fact that I knew he was working with Luke, the fact that it was obvious he paid for all of the exorbitant gifts in my life, possibly how he maneuvered events so that I worked only for him…

Surprise flooded me when he began his explanation rather straightforwardly. I had expected some waffling, some humor on his part, but he answered my question in the same clear-cut way I’d asked it.

“Luke Windsor is one of my closest friends on this planet, Kate, and he constantly tries to get me to become a better man. It’s something I’m often told I possess by people who know me – goodness. But I’m a normal person. I enjoy my vices: fame, women…I was delighted when you put yourself in Luke’s way. He truly believes you’ll ‘redeem’ my soul when all I wanted was a challenge, a conquest. I got to dress you up like a _gorgeous_ doll – still do, by the way – and revel in watching you struggle to deny your passion for me. The perk of being famous with unlimited money is that, when I get bored, I can create outrageous games with rules that suit me.”

_Well he’s not sugarcoating anything, that’s for sure._

I removed my left Louboutin.

“Why did I end up working solely as your personal assistant?”

He seemed to ponder a moment, and then answered the next question with the same clarity as he had the previous one.

“That was more Luke than me, because as I said, he’s tried for years to make me into this ‘better man’ that the press and the fans want me to be. By bringing you in, and having you so close to me, he’s trying to show me that there are really wonderful women in the world worth my time, and attention, and…love.”

I removed my right Louboutin.

“Do you have issues with sex?”

He laughed bitterly. “Isn’t that obvious? I love it too much.”

I reached down and began to unroll my left stocking daintily down my leg. His eyes watched every movement. Seated on my couch, he made no move to touch me, instead sticking to our agreement and letting me do my thing while he did his.

“Why are you unable to have, from what I can tell, genuine relationships…partnerships with women, long-lasting relationships with women, monogamous relationships?” I feared I was labeling him too much, and the fact that he could possibly be bisexual or completely closeted flitted through my mind as I awaited his next response. He was very good at intuiting what I wasn’t saying.

“Not gay, not bisexual, first off. I really do enjoy women. And I enjoy the attention I get from all of them – famous or not. I love being surrounded by women, and it’s what I’m most comfortable with. I have two sisters and was primarily raised by my mother. The fact of the matter is – I don’t do relationships, not traditionally anyway, because nothing lasts. You can attribute that to some bollocks childhood trauma stemming from my parents’ divorce, or you can see it as a symptom of the industry in which I exist. So why not have fun? Why not enjoy every aspect of women that I can? I have female friends, I have female lovers, and I’ve had short-term relationships, flings…” he trailed off.

My right stocking came down next.

“What do you love most in the world? Really, truly love?”

This one was simple. It was right off his tongue as soon as I asked it.

“Work.”

I made quick work of the garter belt and dropped it delicately into the pile of accoutrements on the floor.

“Why are you so oddly fascinated by how _normal,_ your word, I am?”

He placed a long fingertip against his pursed lips and ruminated for a moment, not looking at me. While I didn’t think the question would be hard for him to answer, he seemed to take a few moments to phrase it properly.

“I originally found it refreshingly ironic how well you fit into my world,” he began. “You claim to be this bookish outsider who haphazardly planned to best Luke at his own job but you’ve obviously taken to it like a duck to water. And while you have brains and interests and can do normal things that people like me no longer have to think about, or no longer _get_ to think about, you have all the beauty, the talent…the class to belong in this world. Very few people can exist successfully in both spheres. I’m sometimes envious at how easy it is for you to flit between anonymity and recognition. If you haven’t noticed, the press loves you,” he smiled.

I took my time unhooking the delicate little mechanisms down the front of my lace corset, and he watched my work intently. When I finished, I folded the garment and laid it atop everything else I’d so carefully removed from my person.

“You said earlier that you enjoyed watching me struggle to deny my passion for you. Why haven’t I given in and slept with you, if that’s the case?”

I wanted to cover my chest, waiting for his answer, because I was a good deal on display already. But I needed to show that I was feeling dominant in that moment, that there was no room for vulnerability on my part. I settled for hands on my hips.

“You haven’t slept with me because it’s forbidden in your contract with Prosper. You haven’t slept with me because you don’t want your heart to get broken – and you know it will. You haven’t slept with me because you don’t want to give me the satisfaction of having ‘won’, at least not _yet._ And you haven’t slept with me because you enjoy this chase, as much as I do.”

_Well he’s not wrong._

I took a deep breath and slid the panties down my legs, stepping out of them and discarding them beside me.

_Now you’re truly on display. With any luck, maybe you can get him to “display” whatever’s in that soul of his._

“When you told me you loathed me in the car after our evening at the Eye, and then you pushed me away and shut me down…why were you crying when I got out of the car?”

He grinned. “I am a RADA-trained actor, lovely. The tears perpetuated the myth that I wanted you but couldn’t have you, when in reality I could and still probably can. It’s all an act – all part of the chase. You participate in the very same act every time we’re seen out together. You’re in on the act anytime you wear clothes I purchase for you, doing this ‘important’ job of catering to me as if I’m helpless and dysfunctional.”

_You got the dysfunctional part right._

I shouldn’t have been surprised. But standing before Tom in nothing but my sparkling _Trinity de Cartier_ necklace, I was deeply disappointed that he could offer me no real emotional connection. Everything was in service of getting in my pants. And despite always feeling that this was the case, his actual admission still unsettled me. He was so cavalier about the entire situation.

_I fucking hate this guy._

“You’ve got one question left, sweet girl. I do love that Cartier piece.” He cocked his head to the side and made to admire me like some sculpted piece of art. Whereas we’d started this interrogation with him being serious and somewhat respectful of what I was asking, now he had that usual Tom Hiddleston smugness around him.

Reaching behind me and unclasping the Cartier, I threw it at him. He caught it and delicately laid it on the couch cushion beside him. Legs splayed wide, he acted like the king of the castle. Except he was in _my_ fucking castle.

“How long will it take me to suffocate you to death when I sit on your face and fuck your mouth?”

“Oh, darling,” he purred. “You’d love to find out, wouldn’t you?”

He grabbed me, pulling me atop him on the couch. I went down with him as he leaned back, stretching himself out. He moved his hand to his throat to loosen his tie and unbutton one of his shirt buttons, but I grabbed his wrist with my hand as I sat astride him.

“Oh, no you don’t, you fucking _prick,”_ I snarled, wrapping my other hand around his throat. “Here’s hoping you choke.”

He laughed throatily at my ire and hauled me up his chest, settling me right over his stubbly chin. Long, thin fingers held my thighs wide open, and the last thing I heard him say was “hands in my hair, you lovely girl, so you can yank your anger out on me” before he licked a first, slow stripe from my opening all the way up to my clit.

I exhaled harshly at the sensation, gripping his hair and settling all my weight on his face.

_I hope you drown, motherfucker._

I established a brutal rhythm with my hips, riding his tongue in time with each flick that he lashed on my quickly swelling button. The groans of his satisfaction vibrated through me, causing me to move faster. I wasn’t going to last long – the visual stimulation of seeing his deep blue eyes staring at me from between my splayed thighs, his hair tangled in my hands, and his mouth and tongue reveling in my slickness was causing the familiar tug in my belly faster than I’d anticipated.

I pulled on his hair, hard, and was rewarded with an angry grunt in return. He grazed his teeth harshly across my clit, nipping at me, causing me to buck my hips in slight pain.

I yanked again; he bit again.

So I leaned back and smacked him. The stinging red mark on his cheek seemed to inflame him – seemed to change him completely. In that moment I could see how his transformation into Loki had been possible. His eyes went dark, his brow furrowed. He looked dangerous. The combination was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen.

_Oh Jesus fuck I’m so close!_

I kept looking down, watching this devastatingly handsome man tongue-fucking my pussy, and he made a low noise in his throat as he worked my clit.

_“Mmmmmmm,”_ he purred into my pussy. His voice had dropped into Loki territory, hissing for a split second when his mouth wasn’t latched onto me. “Juicy little _bitch.”_

“Oh, _god,”_ I started panting. I couldn’t look away from him. He didn’t even seem like arrogant Tom Hiddleston – he actually seemed like Loki. Deranged, feral…

_SMACK!_

The stinging blow he left with just one hand covered the entirety of my ass. It burned so badly that tears stung my eyes.

_SMACK!_

He did it again, hitting the exact same place. I ground down on his mouth harder, trying to avoid putting any pressure on my burning backside. He responded by sucking my clit into his mouth harder, making that same purr in the back of his throat.

_I’m going to die._

Three more hard slaps to my ass, combined with the ferocity of his suckling, had me throwing my head back, tears pouring down my face, screaming my release.

I got off of him as soon as I could collect myself, and he let me go without protest. “Did you get everything you needed?” he asked with a shit-eating grin as he wiped his face with his hand.

I just pointed at my door.

“Get out.”

 

 

_**Night at the Opera** _

_**Rumourroom.co.uk** _

_Dear Readers,_

_It’s been awhile since we’ve had any news regarding our favorite “not” couple here at Rumour Room: Tom Hiddleston and his lovely “personal” assistant Kate Michael._

_Considering all the scandal that’s followed Hiddles lately, we’re surprised Kate hasn’t made herself scarce. They were seen canoodling on the London Eye not too long ago, remember? But then WE remembered, dear readers, that Kate now works solely with Tom. It’s now her job to make sure he keeps himself zipped up and tucked in._

_Has it just been a working relationship all along? That remains to be seen, but we know you’ll agree that these two continue to look AMAZING together._

_Check out our photo roll of the two a few nights ago at the Royal Opera House, catching a performance of_ Turandot _. As usual, we’re in love with Kate’s style, tip to toe: Roland Mouret, Christian Louboutin, and some spectacular Cartier. Girl, we adore you. We can only hope Tom does too._

_Until later, dear readers,_

_Rumour Room_

 

 

_**Blind Item** _

_**Shhh! News** _

_The recent photos of this actor doing some canoodling during the workday were ‘leaked’ for sure – but not by the local press. Turns out the actress caught with our handsome A-lister was the one who leaked the photos. She apparently has some major hatred for one of said A-lister’s friends and wanted the leaked photos to cause the friend some MAJOR jealousy. We don’t think it worked, based on pictures that were taken of the actor and his “friend” a mere few days later…we’re also betting the “friend” is more than that…_

 

 

_**Tom Hiddleston Can’t Do ‘Normal’**_

_**Shhh! News Exclusive** _

_**By Mark Davidson** _

_I had the recent good fortune to run into Kate Michael, one of London’s most photographed – and eligible – females. She agreed to a sit-down interview to reveal to me just what, exactly, it’s like to work for Prosper UK. And what everyone really wants to know – what it’s like to be at Tom Hiddleston’s beck and call._

_The thirty-something American, previously employed as a professor of literature, made news earlier in the year when she threw down a bet with the creator and director of Prosper UK, one of England’s most prestigious and high profile PR firms. It seems Michael has risen steadily through the ranks, and if all the recent press is to be believed, Hiddleston singled her out and reworked her contract with Prosper so that she would work solely for him._

_Romantic?_

_I thought so too, until I met Kate for our interview._

_It turns out that Tom Hiddleston is an overbearing, neurotic control freak who has serious boundary issues, ladies and gentlemen._

_Over dinner, Miss Michael could barely make it past the drinks into the first course before she had to excuse herself to the loo on “business.” Presumably, Hiddleston was waiting on the other end of the line, feeling contrite for his latest conquests being splashed all over the_ Daily Mail. _Or maybe he needed her to indulge in some phone “repartee.”_

_Proffering embarrassed apologies, Little Miss Assistant returned to the table and continued with our interview. It didn’t take heartthrob Tom long to begin sending text message after text message to her. Whatever the contents were, Kate Michael was either supremely unhappy or excruciatingly flustered._

_For a personal assistant, it must be noted that Michael is magnificently obtuse and unobservant. I was able to see, from our table at_ Zucca _, that Hiddleston at one point stopped by in a private car to see where she was. He sped off without coming in to inquire after her, face looking thunderous. She didn’t even notice, so absorbed in the continual messages he sent her._

_As far as interviews go, this one didn’t offer much in the way of insight straight from the horse’s mouth, as it were. But I can tell you, here at_ Shhh! News _, that there’s no doubt Kate Michael is nothing more than an eye-candied fucktoy for Tom Hiddleston._

_Go back to the States, Kate._

 

 

_**Tom Hiddleston Sues** _ **Shhh! News**

_**Daily Mail** _

_In an unprecedented move for his camp, Tom Hiddleston has hit back – very strongly – at a recent report regarding his personal assistant Kate Michael._

_Following the publication of a damaging piece written by Mark Davidson for_ Shhh! News _, Hiddleston elected to sue both the reporter and the publication for “malicious lies, hurtful comments, and an extraordinary case of libel.”_

_The article in question was framed as a personal interview between the_ Shhh! News _writer and Michael, PR darling for Prosper UK and Hiddleston’s right-hand woman._

_Hiddleston’s lawyer, Daniel Sheffield, released a statement that Michael was unaware Davidson was a reporter, and that he approached her in a public place posing as someone named “Ian.”_

_“She was wrongfully solicited by a member of the press corps marauding as an interested party,” stated Sheffield. “When he could get no information from Kate during their dinner, he elected to write trash which was wholly damaging and untrue regarding all involved.”_

_Tom Hiddleston is famously tight-lipped about his personal life and rarely, if ever, comments about the goings-on behind the scenes of his work. His PR operates the same way, usually choosing not to shed light on anything other than work-related concerns._ _His choice to sue comes across as a bold message to anyone who wants to think ill of Kate Michael or potentially take advantage of her._

_Furthermore, Hiddleston released a lengthy statement to the UK press:_

_“I am deeply saddened and extremely hurt that a member of the UK press, an institution I regard with the highest respect for its sense of journalistic integrity, has chosen to spew lies and hatred about one of the most important people in my life._

_It’s not bad enough that Mr. Mark Davidson, who has long espoused animosity toward me in his work, chose to approach Kate in such a devious, underhanded way, but that he also chose to publish some very unsavory, disgusting untruths about her. The word choice he elected to use in his writing is degrading, puerile, and demonstrates his lack of talent and good taste._

_I would like it to be known that Miss Michael may still be relatively new to my world, and to the world of public relations. However, in the short amount of time she’s worked for Prosper UK and alongside me, her work has been impeccable and nothing short of professionally perfect. I admired her initially for her decision to change the course of her career, trying her hand at something wholly different from what she does best at home in America. Here, she has become every bit as beloved by the public and the industry as if she were famous, herself. And in a way, she is._

_If certain members of the press think that they can eviscerate those closest to me, I will take it upon myself to use my wealth, my connections, and the leverage of my career to bring them down – professionally, personally, financially, and legally.”_

_Hiddleston and Michael were last seen earlier in the week attending a ROH performance of Puccini’s_ Turandot _._

 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

I called Luke that morning and told him I was sick and wouldn’t be in. He understood.


	10. Vanity Fair Virgin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of Mark Davidson's scathing article about Tom and Kate are wide and far-reaching, and also a little surprising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've spent a long time with this one. I think it's shit, but I'm sure you'll let me know what you think. We're building up to the end, here…kids.

_**Hiddleston MUST Be Kate’s White Knight** _

_**Rumourroom.co.uk** _

_Dear Readers,_

_What a week it’s been for Kate Michael – we were totally shocked when Mark Davidson of_ Shhh! News _dropped that awful article relegating our favorite girl to nothing more than, well…we don’t want to repeat the horrible things he said._

_But what really surprised us here at Rumour Room was how swiftly Tom Hiddleston defended Kate, to the point that he threatened serious legal action and – as we know you all saw – released a super detailed statement to the press._

_While we’ve covered these two going back and forth with one another for months, we can honestly say at this point that we don’t know what to make of the relationship between Tom and Kate. It IS clear to us, after reading all your emails and your tweets and Facebook posts though, that you all believe this could be a case of true love._

_Problem is, if rumours are to be believed, Hiddles doesn’t do true love…_

_Keep your eyes open, dear readers,_

_Rumour Room_

 

 

_**To: “Kate Michael” kmichael@prosperpr.co.uk**_

_**From: “Mark Davidson” mark_dav@dailymail.co.uk** _

_**Subject: Apologies** _

_Miss Michael,_

_I’ve been advised by my lawyer to contact you, via email, so as to establish a paper trail that I’ve made my apologies and condolences for slandering you in the press._

_My intention was to meet with you and get a proper story. You offered none, so I did what I felt I needed to do to deliver on my work quota._

_Best, M. Davidson_

 

 

_**Davidson Issues Article Retraction** _

_**Daily Mail** _

_After a surprisingly quick turnaround, journalist Mark Davidson of_ Shhh! News _has retracted his previously published article “Tom Hiddleston Can’t Do ‘Normal’”._

_Davidson was urged, at the insistence of his legal team, to retract the story, write an (as yet unpublished) apology slated to appear in his publication, and correspond with Kate Michael, PA of Tom Hiddleston, to offer apology and provide a paper trail so as to prove his involvement in repairing damage stemming from his article’s claims._

_As published recently, Davidson’s damaging article was slammed very publicly by Hiddleston himself, who uncharacteristically chose to highlight and comment on his personal life._

_Representatives for Davidson and Hiddleston were reached but both parties declined to comment._

 

 

_**To: “Kate Michael” kmichael@prosperpr.co.uk**_

_**From: “Luke J Windsor” ljwindsor@prosperpr.co.uk** _

_**Subject: Vanity Fair** _

_Hello darling Yank,_

_It’s been a tough few days, I know. I’m glad you’ve had some time off work to hide out and ignore all the trash that’s been flung about._

_I have good news though – hopefully you’ll think it’s good, anyway. I’ve just spoken with the editor of_ Vanity Fair _magazine, and he wants to do a big spread for next month’s issue involving actors and actresses and their personal assistants._

_It’s sort of a “behind the veil” piece; they’re planning individual photo shoots with the talent and his/her PA, with all the emphasis on the PAs involved. You’d get to be glammed up…maybe they’d even let you beat Tom about? Might be fun. And you know I’d love to show you off._

_You’ve done so well for me, dear girl._

_Have a think. Let me know._

_Luke_

 

_PS. He really wants to talk to you. I’ve told him to hold off._

 

 

_**To: “Kate Michael” kmichael@prosperpr.co.uk** _

_**From: twhiddleston@gmail.com** _

_**Subject: Hi** _

_I hope I haven’t embarrassed you by going public._

_Luke told me to wait awhile before contacting you but I needed to at least try to touch base._

_Regardless of what I’ve told you, or how I’ve acted, please believe me when I tell you this: I don’t ever want anyone to hurt you. I’ll take to task those who do._

_Even if I have to take myself to task._

_T_

 

 

_**To: “Luke J Windsor” ljwindsor@prosperpr.co.uk**_

_**From: “Kate Michael” kmichael@prosperpr.co.uk** _

_**Subject: Re: Vanity Fair** _

_I’ll do it._

_Don’t make me see him until then, please._

_Consider this my two weeks’ notice. Please keep this to yourself, for my sake._

 

 

A car was sent to Prosper to pick me up that afternoon, straight from work, to deliver me to the photo shoot location. Being my first day back at the job after a Luke-imposed mini-sabbatical, I accomplished nothing the entirety of the morning. I dealt with the pitying stares of my colleagues, ignored Nicole’s endless stream of questions about whether or not I’d heard from Mark Davidson, and could think of nothing else but Tom Hiddleston.

What a trend that was becoming in my life.

The success of the _Turandot_ outing, while momentarily thrilling, was very short-lived once Davidson’s piece dropped. It was then that I understood the steep price our talent sometimes paid: to sit atop a gilded pedestal, only to be unceremoniously ripped off with the slightest tug.

_And you’d done nothing wrong. Except get involved._

I was fortunate that _Shhh! News_ was the only outlet that colored me in such a negative way. The other gossip sites and periodicals I frequently read were more favorable, but none rushed in to defend me from Mark Davidson’s explicit accusations.

From what I could gather, or more accurately compile from months and months of press focused on me and Tom, everyone had a different opinion about the two of us. Some sites wanted us together; others saw us as foils for all of Tom’s childish mistakes. Several blind items had us hating one another – although those could have all been Luke, trying to keep the media continually unbalanced. I didn’t have the will to ask him if he was up to any more anonymous tips.

If one thing was certain, it was that Tom Hiddleston and I made headlines when we were together. Opinions raged as to what we were, what we “meant” to one another. Were we colleagues? Boss and worker? Friends? Lovers? Secretly married?

_Oh please._

I was as unsure about the state of our…arrangements as the press was. And every time I turned around, it seemed that photographs of the two of us were staring right back at me. Mocking me. We always looked happy around one another, dressed in our finery. Laughing, being tactile, looking like we’d just had a private joke between the two of us. Like we were together. But that would never truly be.

He’d confirmed all of my suspicions with his answers to my nine questions the night of the opera outing. Everything was as I knew it would be – a setup, a game, a conflict of interest.

But then he’d released his statement to the press.

I cried the moment I read it.

I cried because no one had ever stood up for me in that way before. No one ever made me feel like I was worth fighting for, like I was important and precious. He made me feel like I was his family, his partner. I had no idea why he’d done such a thing. He’d been clear with me, in private, about his intentions.

I cried harder when I realized I had feelings for him – to no one’s surprise but my own.

And I continued to cry when I acknowledged he would never be able to feel anything for me other than some sort of fucked up respect borne out of working together.

_He told you himself you’re just a difficult conquest._

I had told Luke soon after the incident that I didn’t want to see or hear from Tom – I was too afraid he would be able to see in my face or hear in my voice that I felt something for him. I didn’t want to be embarrassed at him having that knowledge and then laughing at me.

What was worse, though, was not knowing where these feelings were coming from. Were they coming forth because he’d done right by me? Or was I admitting to myself that, even though he’d been awful to me up to that point – using me, trying to seduce me – I’d wanted him all along anyway? He was so intelligent and handsome and talented, and he could manipulate me any way he wanted. He was a liar.

_He also stood up for you to an entire nation._

What kind of pathetic person did that make me?

_For Christ’s sake, you made him a meal shortly after he’d been caught fucking someone else on his long, long list!_

The _Vanity Fair_ shoot would be the last time I would see and work with Tom, and no one knew this but me. I’d given Luke my two weeks’ notice, but hadn’t revealed that I would spend the final days of my job doing everything else possible aside from seeing Tom. I would foist him off on someone else, if need be.

The vain part of me wanted to do the shoot so that I could be with him, one more time, dressed up and engaging in some sort of witty repartee in front of the camera.

The professional part of me, what little ambition I had left that hadn’t been tapped out, wanted a lasting memory of the work I’d done for Luke and Prosper. It wasn’t much, looking back, and all I really did was serve as a diversion while everyone else did the real work, but I had come to England with no experience and had made a name for myself large enough to be nationally recognized. And in some small circles, adored.

 

When the car pulled up at the shoot location, I thanked the driver and took a deep breath before getting out.

_This will be the last day you see him. It has to be._

I should have been angry with myself for falling so easily for a man who had, aside from one chivalric moment to the papers, treated me terribly. I was now the kind of woman I’d always made fun of. Longing for a man who treated women as disposable pleasures, a man without honor, without loyalty. But I foolishly still held out hope that some part of him felt _something_ for me, too. Why else did he go to all the trouble of finagling my contract? Of making sure we were alone together where he could turn me into a wanton creature, desperate for his touch? Why threaten Mark Davidson with legal action, announcing his intentions to the entire British press?

_Why the tears?_

I hadn’t bought his explanation after the opera that he’d cried in our car after the Eye because he was “acting.” It had been an unguarded moment when I looked back into the car and saw the wet drops streaking from his eyes.

_He HAS to feel something!_

The agitated look on my face must have concerned the assistant waiting for me as I got out of the car, because she spoke hesitantly to me.

“Afternoon, Miss Michael. Uh, I’m to…usher you into hair and makeup, this way,” she trailed off. I nodded my thanks, not feeling particularly social in that moment. Following her into the back entrance of where I’d been dropped, I noticed with a start that I was inside the Savoy Hotel.

“We’ll be shooting in the Royal Suite upstairs, ma’am,” the young woman continued. “Hair, makeup, and dressing should take no longer than an hour for you, and then we’ll get started. Mr. Hiddleston is on his way.”

I swallowed.

Upon my arrival upstairs, the suite became abuzz with people: lighters, photographers, makeup artists, hairstylists, people steaming clothes and examining choices on racks. I noticed that a pale green and gold gown had been laid aside and wondered if it was for me. My nerves were starting to affect me, so I sat down for hair and makeup as soon as I was directed to it.

_You’re going to see Tom for the last time. What will he say to you? What will he do when he finds out you’re not coming back?_

To keep my mind occupied, I thumbed through my phone while my face was painted on and my long locks were carefully curled. Luke had sent a few messages that I hadn’t yet read.

_**I’m thrilled you’re doing the shoot today. It will look wonderful.** _

_**Are you absolutely sure you’re going to bow out of your contract? How about you take two weeks to calm yourself instead of just giving me notice?** _

_**How about this…take a quick vacation. I can rent you a cottage seaside in Cornwall; you can get away for a little bit… I don’t want you to leave, Kate. You’ve done brilliantly for us. The Trinity.** _

I deleted all three messages.

 

 

They were finishing with my hair – a loose, bedhead curl style that made me look like a vixen – when I heard his voice in the other room.

“Yes, hello! Thanks for having us today…” he said cheerfully.

They were getting him ready in the next room over. I kept listening in.

“Oh, and I’m to wear that presumably? Ha! Clever…”

My heart stopped.

_Goddamn him for having this effect on you. Goddamn him to hell._

I shook my head to clear it as the stylist, Gina, led me over to the clothing rack, to the green and gold dress I’d spotted upon my entrance.

“We thought this vintage Zuhair Murad would do well for today,” Gina said, holding up the gauzy, strapless confection. “It’s gilded with accents and is a really striking shade of green, especially given your eye color. Those Zanottis over there,” she pointed to back stiletto sandals with a golden snake coil accent, “add another layer of depth to the gold theme for your shoot.”

_Of course. Now I know what you're playing at._

“It’s Loki, isn’t it?” I laughed a little. “The green and gold motif, right?”

Gina winked at me. “We wanted to have little flourishes of his first major character in your shots. He’s actually got a replica of the helmet out there, if you two want to get playful with it.”

I flushed a little. Loki had been my introduction to Tom’s work. I found the character unbearably sexy, complex, and intensely likeable.

_Doesn’t help that his Loki came out during your little post-opera tryst._

I let Gina dress me carefully, making sure to avoid mussing my hair and makeup. After helping me into the shoes, she adorned me with a green diamond snake ring and a pair of diamond Ileana Makri snake earrings. I stood in front of the full-length mirror, marveling at the work my makeshift team had just done. Sure, I’d been dressed up to go to the Tate, and the Royal Opera House, but I’d done the styling myself. I’d done my own hair and makeup for each outing.

This was different. I looked and felt like a model, like a woman of power. And I wondered if Tom knew that I was adorned in Loki’s colors, in _his_ colors.

Apparently he didn’t, because my entrance into the main living area of the suite startled him, visibly. He had been talking nonchalantly to the photographer, making polite small talk and goofing around with that infamous horned golden helmet. His hair was mussed, and he wore most of a tux – tailored pants, dress shirt slightly unbuttoned, and a bowtie undone around his neck. Relaxed, intensely sensual…

_Gorgeous as ever._

When he saw me, he came right over to me, placing Loki’s headgear gingerly on one of the various tables in the suite.

“My sweet girl, you look _wonderful,”_ he said, smiling warmly at me. “Let me have a look at you, see what they’ve done,” he held out his hands and I took them.

He seemed a very different person – he wasn’t leering at me, he didn’t appear to be putting on some sort of show. He was just…very invested in what was about to happen.

“So, we’re playing with Loki today, are we?” I asked shakily, smiling up at him and taking a deep breath.

“We can, darling. I see they’ve put you in my – I mean, _his_ – colors, haven’t they?”

I nodded. I showed him the jewelry and the shoes.

“Well you look _spectacular,_ but that’s nothing new,” he complimented, leading me over to sit with him on a large couch while the photographer and his assistants finished setting up their shots. He was very conscientious of me, much like he had been on all of our other outings, but…his behavior didn’t seem like it had previously. It didn’t feel put on. The camera hadn’t started its work yet.

“Do I get to make you kneel?” I laughed quietly, absorbing his smiling face into my memory as I said it.

“Sweet girl, I’d do that for you, you know I would.”

His reply made me sad. Reminded me of what he’d done for me in the press, after Davidson’s story had been published. I started to well up a little.

“Oh, Kate, are you alright, lovely? Have I done something?” He seemed genuinely concerned. Motioning for Gina to grab a tissue, he put his arm around me and shushed me. “No crying, sweet girl. Can’t ruin that gorgeous face, now, can we? Here,” he gently blotted the tears from my eyes and face and placed a finger under my chin to bring my gaze to his. “What’s happened, Kate?”

He brushed my loose curls back from my face tenderly, staring into my eyes with a questioning, worried look. I could only reply in a whisper.

“I…just wanted…to say th–thank you for what you did for me,” my voice quivered. “We’ve been at odds and a lot of strange things have happened between us and there’s times I’ve hated you, but,” I took a deep breath. “You’ve been very good to me about all this. And I don’t unders–understand why you keep playing around with me, Tom. I don’t know why I keep letting myself get involved with you emotionally when…when there’s been so much manipulation and carelessness…” I trailed off.

He looked ready to respond but we were told at that moment to begin prepping ourselves for the shoot. The photographer seemed to know what he wanted.

“Alright, you two – such a glamorous couple! I’ve done a lot of shoots this past week with PAs and their clients but you two are by far the most aesthetically pleasing of the bunch,” he complimented. “It’s not a secret people wish you two to be together.”

Tom squeezed my hand and helped me up off the couch, over to where we were being positioned.

“What we’re going to do is shift the balance of your roles, today, ok? Tom – you’ve got none of the power today. Kate is essentially the star, and you’re going to be following her lead…a sort of, ‘behind every great actor is a great assistant’ deal, if you will.”

The initial poses were somewhat staid, as the photographer had us standing back to back, illustrating some sort of partnership of equals. It only lasted a few minutes before Tom chimed in.

“Uhm, Mathieu? Can I maybe try a few things with Kate and you just take photos as we go along…see what works? I want this to feel like us.”

“Sure, Tom,” he switched lenses and readjusted some things while the light was changed in the room.

I watched inquisitively as Tom pulled an ornate dining chair out from the expansive buffet table and instructed me to sit in it. I did so, and as Gina rearranged the tulle and chiffon of my skirt all around the floor, fluffing my hair, Tom gave me direction.

“This is your throne, sweet girl. You’re the regal queen – you take no prisoners and you have a strong heart and mind – and I’m merely here to do as you say.”

I felt my back straighten at his words, changing my persona.

Tom knelt down on the floor in front of my chair at an angle, seeming to offer himself in allegiance to me. I had an idea.

“Gina, grab me the horns, please.”

With Tom still kneeling in obeisance, I took the helmet and balanced it on my right bicep, curling my fingers along one of the curved horns. Raising one of my eyebrows, I stared down at Tom, trying to embody the essence of this “queen” he was drawing out of me.

The photographer loved it.

“Yes, Kate! _Gorgeous!_ Look at him as if he’s yours to command, as if you own him…”

He clicked a few more shots with his camera, and then Tom got up from the floor and suggested we try something else. I stood up, carefully, breaking out of the character I’d tried to construct.

Tom sat himself in the chair this time, sprawling his legs akimbo in a sign of comfort and renewed dominance.

“Would you put my horns on me, sweet girl?” Mirth shone in his eyes.

I couldn’t help it; I giggled. Retrieving the helmet, I moved to stand in front of Tom, brushing his unruly hair from his face. I gently slid the helmet down atop his head, making sure the bottom part interlocked carefully on both sides.

“Ehehehe,” he laughed. He looked so mischievous it was easy to see how he’d won the role of Loki. It was his calling card. I reveled in watching him with such childlike energy.

“Now, Kate – don’t yell at me,” Tom winked. “You’re going to sit crossways on my lap in this chair and stretch your legs out so they fall over the right arm of the chair, ok?”

I sat carefully in his lap, feeling myself go slightly red at our position.

_The last time you were in his lap was in the car after the Eye._

Stretching out, I braced my left hand on the left arm of the chair, and instinctually pulled his head toward mine by gripping one of the horns on the helmet. His relaxed laugh as he held onto me, letting me yank his head about, calmed me and allowed me to sink into the moment. I stared into his face, laughing with him.

At one point I even rested my head against his helmet-clad one, eyes closed with comfortable relief that this wasn’t awkward. All thoughts of the camera vanished. To the point where we were just having a conversation, quietly, sat together in the chair.

“I won’t kneel for you, you know,” I teased him.

“I know better than to ask that, sweet girl,” he intoned in Loki’s deep voice, trying to sound menacing but giving himself away by the warmth of his smile and gaze. “I’ve been awful to you, and I know it, Kate.”

I pulled off the helmet carefully, as I could see he was getting overheated. I set it on the table behind us and combed my fingers through his hair to try and tame it into some sort of appropriate state. He leaned into my touch and closed his eyes, still talking.

“It would be dishonest of me to say that I don’t have feelings for you…that everything was all a game to me. I know what I’ve said and done – with you and to you, and with and to others – but the most honest part of me, however small it is, needs you to know that I have serious feelings for you, Kate. When I read what utter _shit_ Mark Davidson wrote about you…” he breathed.

I could do nothing but stare at him. This wasn’t performance. We were being photographed with a roomful of people and he was being as transparent with me as I’d ever seen. I fussed with his undone bowtie just to give my hands something to do. I could still hear the camera beeping, distantly.

“I don’t want you to be hurt. Not by complete arses like him…and not by me. What sort of awful person am I that it took another man calling you those things to realize how I feel? I’ve done you no better, lying and carrying on with other people and using you…” I could see him swallow thickly, and then he continued. “I have had feelings for you – sexual, emotional – for a long time now, and I’m terrified.”

He looked at me with those piercing blue eyes, tightening his arms around me where I sat in his lap. There was nothing lecherous in his touch or his look. In fact, considering how I was splayed on him, he was acting downright chaste. I looked down at the floor.

“Terrified because…you don’t want to have these feelings?” I felt a lump in my throat.

The camera continued to beep. Lights continued flashing. We were oblivious.

He squeezed me within his arms, pulling me even closer. “Because I am incapable of being good to you, Kate,” he pressed our noses together and closed his eyes. “I am an egotistical, self-absorbed flirt. I am surrounded by beautiful people every day of my life. I use sex for pleasure, for escape…to boost my ego…I’m not cut out for you. For your sweetness. For any love you might come to have for me.”

I pulled away first, noticing that the cameraman and shoot crew were packing up. No one said a word to us; they were all just going about their business. Only Gina was focused on us, as she had to return the clothes we were in.

He loosened his arms and I figured his diatribe was over. I would get up from his lap and change clothes, leaving _Vanity Fair_ and him behind in the same breath. But he continued talking, me perched on his knees, my arms loose at his shoulders.

“I said I loathed you when we left the Eye, Kate, and it wasn’t true. This isn’t loathing, sweet girl. This is _longing._ And I am ill – desperately sick with it. I want you. Very much physically. I can promise you nothing emotional. As you so aptly pointed out to me, I can’t do relationships. And I’m afraid you’re right to believe that if I ever bedded you, I would consider _this…thing,_ this _challenge,_ complete. And I would make an ill-advised choice and find someone else. Or hurt you without meaning to.”

I’d started to cry, silently watching him explain himself to me while salty tracks coursed down my rouged cheeks. I didn’t care about hiding my feelings anymore; I wouldn’t be around long enough for the repercussions to happen.

_What is there to even say? You’d known from the beginning this wasn’t possible._

Taking two calming breaths, I stood from my seated position, disentangling myself from his warmth and strong limbs.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Tom. It’s fine,” I shuddered. “I didn’t take this job to change you, or to try and fulfill some ridiculous romantic trope that doesn’t exist. It was to challenge myself and to try something new. And I have, and I did.”

I touched his cheek gently, giving him a wan smile. Signaling to Gina that I was ready to get out of the Murad and jewelry, I wiped my eyes and followed her into the next room to begin the process of transforming back into myself.

Turning back on impulse, I greedily took in the sight of him in dress clothes, standing tall and handsome and unkempt from our truly delightful moments together. I wanted to remember him as he was right now – not the other versions of him he’d shown me in our brief working, dysfunctional relationship.

“And one more thing, Tom,” I faltered. “I’ve given notice to Luke. Officially, today is it for me with you.”

He went as white as the starched shirt on his back.


	11. Runaway, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate begins her two weeks' notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMU-HU-HUT. I was originally going to end this story right after this chapter, but, um, Tom and Kate are needing to, um... so…I've got a little ways to go.
> 
> Continued love for everyone who's commenting and giving kudos.

If Luke Windsor thought for one second that he could trap me in some romantic Cornwall retreat, only to give Tom knowledge of my whereabouts, well…he didn’t know me very well. His surprise at my insistence that I would still be resigning my permission as promised, after two final weeks, also revealed that Luke didn’t really know me.

_Does anyone in this business ever REALLY know someone?_

After the finality of the _Vanity Fair_ shoot, I’d all but dropped off the radar to the people in my life. Sure, I’d let Luke know I could still work remotely for him, as needed, during my final tenure at Prosper, but I requested to do so alone. Away from the glare of the spotlight that continued to seek me out.

Away from Tom Hiddleston.

Our last meeting had gone as well as I could have ever hoped for. He had been kind, and honest, and we had created an intimate moment in spite of the commotion around us. It had made me think, momentarily, that there was hope for him. Hope for that good person to come forward.

_Good things don’t last. And he already told you as much._

I would take the memory of our few hours at the Savoy and savor it. I was glad it had happened, and that we had parted on good terms. Not with the finality I wanted, but professionally and pleasantly nonetheless. I would deal with not having complete closure, but I needed to do it alone.

It startled me when I likened these feelings to grieving the loss of a relationship. In a way, despite what we both said and did, we had had a relationship – of some sort.

Although Luke’s offer of a small cottage in Cornwall was very kind, I was tired of his handprints all over the decisions of my life. My _personal_ life. So I took him up on the offer to leave town – I think he still believed some time away would change my mind about quitting – as long as he didn’t know the location and I could only be reached during set hours of the day. I elected to avoid Cornwall, with all its romantic connotations. Instead, I booked an overly long weekend at a tiny cottage in the Cotswolds, secluded from anyplace important, or large, or well traveled.

My requirements when I spoke to the rental agency were a stocked kitchen, large fireplace and a soaking tub. Once I’d booked, my only other concern was how many books to take, and how much work I could avoid once I’d ferreted myself away to seclusion.

A well-packed bag and two hours in a rental car later, I found myself cozily ensconced in my personal retreat on a Thursday afternoon. It had been so long since I just relaxed, since I wasn’t focusing on other people with superficial problems. Here, I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone. I wasn’t a distraction from someone’s errors in judgment. I wasn’t a temptation, or a bother. I wasn’t PR. I wasn’t the subject of a blind item.

_Or an “eye-candied fucktoy”, as Mark Davidson would say._

I shook the thought from my head and unpacked my softest, comfiest clothes. Changed into a silky, dark blue romper and a cashmere sweater.

_No luxury brands this weekend, my friends. Fuck all that!_

I took my time arranging the pillows and blankets on the large, oversize couch where I would be reading novel after delicious novel. Spreading my books out on the coffee table, I knew I would be as frustrated as I was delighted at the prospect of having to choose which to read first.

I charged my laptop and queued up My List on Netflix, ready to savor episodes of shows I hadn’t caught up on.

I checked the stocked kitchen, opening a bottle of rosé and choosing from myriad ingredients to decide what meal to cook for dinner. I had limitless options. The wine was warm in my throat and belly as I took stock of what I’d need to make a chicken parmesan.

I built a small fire in the beautifully redone grate, appreciating the scent of the burning wood, the sound of the crackling twigs, and the heat, light, and comfort it gave off.

I lined up my favorite lotions and bubble bath scents beside the claw-footed tub, smiling in anticipation of the lengthy soak I would take after dinner.

The clock on the living room wall told me I’d made it an entire hour before my phone started making its glowering presence known.

Hadn’t I told Luke I would be away from my phone until tomorrow? And that was the ONLY day he could contact me?

_**Where are you?** _

It wasn’t Luke, of course.

_Because that would be too easy._

_**I’m…away for a little bit.** _

Tom wouldn’t let this go, I knew. But I had to steer clear. I didn’t want to ruin those final, peaceful moments we’d shared. All I had to do was stay hidden for three days.

_**Luke said you’ve gone but I wasn’t sure if he meant gone as in completely or gone as in away for a long weekend.** _

_Oh lord. Stay noncommittal._

_**Long weekend. But as I said, I’ve given notice. So ‘completely gone’ is around the corner. Luke really does love to tell you everything, doesn’t he?** _

I wasn’t necessarily mad at Luke – he didn’t know where I was so I couldn’t be – but did he have to continually try to throw Tom in my way?

_**I’m sorry, sweet girl. I bothered him quite relentlessly until he told me. And that was all he said. Won’t you tell me where you’ve gone?** _

I walked over to the kitchen island, draining the remains of the rosé, and slammed my phone onto the counter. Why couldn’t he just leave me be? All I wanted was three days alone. If I had to face him in my final week of work, I could bear it. But here – this retreat was for me. To escape him. To evade my sadness that nothing would ever work between the two of us. To resign myself to returning to America.

_**Tom, I can’t. If you need something, get ahold of Nicole Hackett. I’m off duty, my friend.** _

I locked the screen and decided nothing would occupy my mind more than preparing dinner. Taking my iPhone over to the dock, I selected a playlist from iTunes and pushed play. Diana Krall’s warm contralto filled the room.

 

 

_I get along without you very well_

_Of course I do_

_Except when soft rains fall_

_And drip from leaves, then I recall_

_The thrill of being sheltered in you arms_

_Of course I do_

_But I get along without you very well_

 

I trimmed and rinsed chicken cuts, gathered and chopped tomatoes and herbs, and grated a block of aged parmesan cheese. The browning of the chicken, the creation of the sauce, the boiling of the pasta – the methodical way of doing things soothed my mind.

 

_I’ve forgotten you just like I should_

_Of course I have_

_Except to hear your name_

_Or someone’s laugh that is the same_

_But I’ve forgotten you just like I should_

 

Singing along, I swayed slightly. The few tears that escaped my eyes were better than breaking down and sobbing. I was proud of myself for that, at least.

Diana stopped her singing, as my phone ringing interrupted her. I didn’t pay any attention at first because I had to finish cooking the chicken through, and the tomato sauce needed constant stirring. When I felt that I had things under control, I slipped back over to the iPhone dock and looked at the screen.

_Hiddleston, can you please just leave me alone?_

I picked up.

“Darling girl I’m going to keep trying to talk to you until you tell me where you are,” he said, sounding like he was driving. “I need to see you.”

_He is NOT?! Oh for heaven’s sake!_

“Tom I swear if you are in a car out looking for me right now I’m going to be so, so upset with you,” I whined. I didn’t want him here. I wanted to be alone. “I didn’t come here so you could come chasing after me. This isn’t a chase anymore. I need time to myself.”

“I understand that and respect it, Kate. But you left me so abruptly at the Savoy and I have this awful, awful feeling that that was goodbye and–”

I interrupted him, moving back over to the kitchen to cradle the phone to my ear and drain the noodles, then stir the sauce some more. The cheesy, gooey chicken and some of the sauce went into the oven to brown and bubble.

“It very well might be, Tom. I left us on good terms, and I want to keep that as the last memory I have of you. Kind and sweet and honest. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to finish prep–”

“Just…please, sweet girl. Tell me where you are. I just want to come and say thank you for all you’ve done for me. And to atone for a lot of things. I won’t be a bother and I won’t stay long, lovely,” he got very quiet. “But I need to make sure I can see you one last time. You’ve done wonderful things for me. Throw me out if you need to, but…” he sighed.

I put him on speaker, running my hand over my face wearily. I stayed silent as I checked the oven, and then rummaged around for some cutlery and a dinner plate.

_Fuck it. It’s the least you can do for someone who defended your honor to all of Britain._

Giving him the address, I heard him swear heartily on his end of the line. “I definitely thought you’d gone to Cornwall, sweet girl,” he laughed. “I’m in for a few hours of retracing my steps, it seems.”

I felt bad. He was driving all over creation, trying to find me. But just to apologize? It seemed too much. “Tom – if you come here, I want you to say whatever needs said and then go, alright?” I let displeasure color my tone of voice.

“Yes, sweet girl. Just relax. I’ll be there later and then I’ll go.” He started to hang up.

“Tom?”

“What is it, lovely?”

Whether or not it was out of sheer habit, just trying to make sure he was always taken care of, I finished the conversation.

“Be safe.”

 

 

I kindled the fire, savoring the feeling of my full stomach and my relaxed mind. I finally took my dishes to the sink to soak, rinsing out my wine glass and filling it with some ice cold water.

_If I want to stay awake to continue this book I’d best lay off the wine._

I smiled to myself, perfectly content in the moment. I wasn’t thinking about work. I wasn’t worried about who was trying to take my picture or contact me or deceive me. I was simply relishing my quiet solitude, coupled with the intense pleasure of a good book. I was halfway through one of my recent purchases, Jojo Moyes’ _Me Before You_ , when a muffled knock sounded at the front door of the cottage.

Nerves shot through my body.

I placed the book on the couch beside me and took a few deep breaths in and out before I grabbed my phone and padded toward the entry.

_It’s fine. He’s just going to say his piece and be gone. A hug goodbye. That’ll be it._

The look in his eyes when I opened the door was both relieved and slightly anxious, and he waited for me to say something before he made any move to step forward. I think he would have smiled and been his usual happy, extroverted self if he hadn’t heard my displeasure at having him come visit me.

“Hi, Tom,” I smiled, waving him in. “C’mon. Let’s get you in and back out of here, okay?”

He nodded, trying to smile, and followed me into the cottage, closing the door behind him.

“I can make you a plate if you like,” I called to him as I made my way toward the kitchen area again. “I know you’ve been driving awhile and you probably haven’t eaten.”

“Oh, no – I don’t want you to have to–” he started.

I shushed him, my nerves letting go as I saw how uncomfortable he looked. He was totally off-balance, seeing me in casual clothes, taking in the food I’d made for myself and the haphazard way all my things were laid around the room. “I’ve got extra and it’s still warm. You sit,” I pretended to be stern until he smiled slightly, “and I’ll get you a plate. Chicken parmesan okay?”

He nodded, sitting on the edge of the couch, running a hand through his hair and looking at the floor. He didn’t say one word.

“Would you like some wine?”

He shook his head. “No, sweet girl. If I’m to drive back I don’t want to be drowsy.”

_Good. You’re driving back._

I made quick work of preparing his chicken, then filled a glass with ice and water for him and grabbed some utensils, bringing everything over to him at his spot on the couch. He was nothing but well mannered and startlingly quiet.

“Thank you, lovely. This looks wonderful and I’m famished,” he declared honestly.

“Well, I wouldn’t be a personal assistant if I didn’t make sure you ate once in awhile,” I teased. And then I remembered that I wouldn’t be doing personal assisting much longer. Tom had the same thought.

“Are you really considering leaving, Kate?” he asked as he took his first bite of the chicken, his eyes closing in pleasure at the taste. “Oh my _god_ this is good. And I thought your lasagna couldn’t be outdone.”

I chuckled, flushing at his compliment. Sitting down on the other end of the couch, I turned toward him and crossed my legs Indian style, making myself comfortable. I had forgotten I was wearing a little romper and that my long legs were on display quite prominently, so I grabbed the blanket draped along the side of the couch and covered up.

“Even if you didn’t want to work for Luke or me anymore I’d pay you a full salary just to cook and bake for me,” he winked. I watched him slice another bite of chicken, twirling his fork to add some of the pasta. He ate slowly, savoring the meal, and suddenly seemed relaxed in a way I’d never observed. I'd never seen him eat anything, I realized.

“I don’t think I’d want to do that,” I stuck my tongue out at him. “Sorry, m’dear.”

“Ahh, it was worth a try.”

Strangely, we settled into a comfortable, unspoken silence as Tom ate. He took his time, at one point going back over to the kitchen to refill his plate and grab some bread, and I turned toward the warmth of the fire and continued reading my novel until he had finished. As soon as he placed his silverware onto the plate and sat it atop the coffee table, he turned to me.

“I know I’m on limited time here, sweet girl. And if this is the last time I ever see you, I want you to know that I think the absolute world of you.” I smiled politely but refused to look in his eyes.

_Don’t let him make this harder than it has to be. Move on._

“I appreciate that, Tom.” I reached over and squeezed his shoulder, and before I could pull away, he gently grabbed onto my hand and led me to sit in his lap, much like we had been seated together during the _Vanity Fair_ shoot. I yelped in surprise, embarrassingly.

My heart was thudding in my chest. It was too much – he was too close. And this wasn’t some heartless, sexual incident like we’d experienced previously. This was him showing a softer, more tender side. He gathered me up in his long arms, keeping the blanket tucked around me, remaining the same man who’d tended to me during our photo shoot. The same man who’d wiped my tears and maintained an intimate but respectful distance from me.

“Look in my eyes, please,” he whispered into my hair. I’d been staring into the dancing flames of the fire. When I turned to look at him, he raised a hand to stroke lightly through my hair, imperceptibly rocking me from side to side in his arms. His eyes shimmered slightly with unshed tears.

_Oh shit. More tears…?_

Before I could stop myself I was running a hand down his cheek, thumb ready to wipe away any of those tears that might slip from his long lashes. Despite everything, I was a caretaker at heart, and for a long while I’d been his, whether I truly accepted it or not.

“Tom, it’s okay,” I murmured. I scratched my other hand through his hair, trying to soothe him. He looked as though he was trying to get his thoughts to form into words, but he was having difficulties. I continued to speak, filling the void. “I’m right here, okay? You just take your time and say what you need to say.”

He turned me toward him further, so that I was staring directly into his face, my arms encircling his back, and his encircling mine. I’d never found him so handsome before – in his threadbare t-shirt and jeans. Neither of us was dressed to the nines anymore. We weren’t headed out to have our photo taken. Vicious threats weren’t being exchanged. He looked real.

“I’m going to say some things to you, sweet girl, and I just need you to listen until I’m all done, alright?” he half-smiled. “I promised you I would tell you what I needed to and then leave. So please just give me that.”

I nodded, itching to touch him again. When I realized I had nothing left to lose, I traced his nose, and then his cheekbones, with the tip of my index finger. He closed his eyes at the contact, exhaling in a whoosh. Grabbing my marauding hand, he held it in his own and began talking.

“I came here to tell you thank you, as I said,” he cleared his throat, and then ever so slowly kissed me square on the forehead. I relished it.

“And that I meant everything I said when we did our shoot together.” He kissed my brow, and then both of my eyelids. He still held onto my hand, rocking me.

“I am devastated you have decided to leave and I wish to God I could convince you to stay with us – with _me.”_ A kiss on the tip of my nose.

“But I know you want to move on, and that I have nothing that I can give you or promise you to make you stay with me.” I felt wetness on my face as he kissed me on the cheek. He had started to cry.

“I’ve told you how I feel about relationships,” he swiped at his eyes, “and I’ve been completely transparent with you about the fact that I don’t think I can do them.” He placed three short kisses on my trembling mouth. At some point I’d started to cry a little, too, without realizing. He curled me up into him, and I found myself holding on for dear life, while he continued to talk to me.

“But if I asked you, sweet girl, would you let me take care of you, for once, for the rest of your stay here? I want to hold you, and serve you, and be with you. I just want to show you my appreciation for everything you’ve done and put up with for me. I won’t ask anything else of you. I won’t try and make you stay. Just let me spend this time with you, before you’re gone.”

I could deny it all I wanted, but as he spoke those final words and held me at arms’ length to look in my eyes and search for an answer, I knew I wanted to say yes. These kinds of things were what I’d wanted to hear falling from his lips. This side of him was who I wanted to see – gentle, loving, emotionally available. And though I knew we would never be anything more than what was happening in this moment, I wanted to take the chance. I wanted to see the side of Tom Hiddleston that so many people – Luke included – always spoke of. A man of goodness, and kindness. I had never been sure he was able to love – and all of his declarations to the contrary echoed in my mind – but imagining how close he could possible come to that emotion? I flushed.

_Let him prove himself – some part of himself – to you._

I took the initiative, kissing Tom softly, slowly on the mouth, melting into his hold when that dark voice of his hummed satisfaction into my lips. He rubbed his hands slowly up and down my back, not wanting to break away.

“Ok,” I finally said, when the need for oxygen arose.

The face that I expected to see – one of gloating seduction – wasn’t present. It was still Tom, but unlike the Tom from any of our other private dalliances. He looked happy, heavy-lidded and calm. I could have stayed in his hold forever, but he surprised me. Picking me up, he stood me in front of him and exclaimed he would clean up dinner and do the dishes.

“And you, sweet girl,” he grinned, “go draw yourself a bath and relax.”

“Are you–” I started.

“I’ll be in after a bit. And I’m not going to leer at you like I did the last time I caught you in my bath. Much as I’d like to, I’m being good,” he looked down and colored slightly. “Or trying to be, anyway.”

I thanked him for cleaning up, moving to retrieve my book to take into the tub with me. I started the tap and shed my sweater and clothes, feeling extremely self-conscious at the idea that Tom was in the room next to me and he knew I was getting naked. The thought warmed me, however, and instead of fighting my physical responses to him like I’d been doing for as long as I could remember – many times unsuccessfully – I allowed myself to entertain them.

_This is your only time with him._

After the bathtub had filled a little, I added some scented vanilla bean bath oil and loosely tied my hair up so it wouldn’t get damp. I laid out a towel for myself and then leaned against the sink, waiting for the water to fill all the way. I listened to Tom cleaning and drying dishes in the kitchen, such a foreign sound, such a comforting, domestic sound. With each moment that passed, I grew more aroused at the prospect of having him here – secluded and all to myself – and yet I also grew sad at what we’d never become. But I refused to dwell on sad things. If this was what was meant to come out of my spontaneous lunch meeting with Luke Windsor all those months ago, then…

It was worth it.

Turning off the taps, I stepped carefully into the steaming, scented water, clutching my book with dry fingertips and sitting carefully into the deep recesses of the bath. I could feel every muscle in my body unwinding at the heat. Sighing in pleasure, I let the book drop from my hand onto the floor and simply leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I floated there, turning my attention back to Tom finishing up in the kitchen. I’d left the door of the bathroom open, and could hear him toeing off his shoes right outside the door. Not wanting to frighten me, he knocked a quiet rap on the doorframe.

“May I come in?” he asked hesitantly.

_That voice will always do things to me._

I smiled a lazy smile, like a cat who’d glutted herself on cream, and told him yes, but that he wasn’t going to sit there atop the counter and ogle me.

“No, sir. You’re going to get in with me,” I grinned. He didn’t leer or start parrying with sexual innuendoes – he simply started shucking his clothes efficiently. Didn’t even say a word. I was so taken with his beautiful body, finally – blessedly – nude before me, that I forgot momentarily how long his legs were.

“I hope you’ll fit in here, Legs,” I teased. If he chose to sit on the opposite side of the tub his knees would probably reach my ears…

“Sweet girl, I’m going to come sit behind you, so I can hold you.” The sentiment was endearing, to be sure, but as he cautiously stepped into the water behind me and I moved forward to accommodate him, the thought of being pressed against him – both of us finally completely unclothed together – had a strong ache starting in my core.

I was lifted slightly by my hips so Tom could pull me back toward him, fitted between his outstretched legs and draped atop his chest and arms. I immediately settled into him, resting the back of my head against his heart.

“I don’t want to do anything to scare you off, lovely. So I need you to tell me where to put my hands,” he murmured into my ear. He was being so conscientious. Speaking wasn’t something I was feeling capable of doing, so I took his left arm and wrapped it lowly around my tummy. His right hand, I placed on the soft skin of my inner right thigh. I leaned back once again, closing my eyes, and could feel his exhale at my submission. Placing both of my hands atop his, I asked him to recite something for me: “because you have to have known all along what your voice does to me.”

He laughed a short little “hmm” sound, and took a few moments to flip through the no doubt enormous catalogue that was his brain. I concentrated on feeling the rise and fall of his broad chest, feeling his large hands anchoring me to him. And then he began.

 

 

_“The jester walked in the garden:_

_The garden had fallen still;_

_He bade his soul rise upward_

_And stand on her window-sill._

_It rose in a straight blue garment,_

_When owls began to call:_

_It had grown wise-tongued by thinking_

_Of a quiet and light footfall;_

_But the young queen would not listen;_

_She rose in her pale night-gown;_

_She drew in the heavy casement_

_And pushed the latches down._

_He bade his heart go to her,_

_When the owls called out no more;_

_In a red and quivering garment_

_It sang to her through the door._

_It had grown sweet-tongued by dreaming_

_Of a flutter of flower-like hair;_

_But she took up her fan from the table_

_And waved it off on the air._

_'I have cap and bells,’ he pondered,_

_'I will send them to her and die’;_

_And when the morning whitened_

_He left them where she went by._

_She laid them upon her bosom,_

_Under a cloud of her hair,_

_And her red lips sang them a love-song_

_Till stars grew out of the air._

_She opened her door and her window,_

_And the heart and the soul came through,_

_To her right hand came the red one,_

_To her left hand came the blue._

_They set up a noise like crickets,_

_A chattering wise and sweet,_

_And her hair was a folded flower_

_And the quiet of love in her feet.”_

 

He finished, voice having lulled me into what he thought was sleep, but I sighed in contentment as he kissed my hair. When I made no movement of protest, he placed a warm, wet kiss to the side of my neck.

“Again, please,” I purred. He tilted his head to the other side of my neck and dropped his lips once again to my flesh.

I slid his hand from around my stomach and placed his fingers atop my breast, giving him leave to touch me. Doing the same with his right hand, I slid his fingers along my inner thigh, moving my own hand back to the lip of the bathtub as he continued to skim my body.

“Can I make you feel good, my sweet girl? ” His voice had dropped to that octave which never failed to work on me. Long, thin fingers hovered over the points of my body that ached for him most.

“With that voice, you can do anything you want, Hiddleston” I smiled, instinctively widening my legs so he could access whatever parts of me he wanted. My breath stuttered as he rolled a taut nipple between his thumb and forefinger, while also grazing my sex with his other hand. I couldn’t help the soft groan that escaped me.

“Do you like this, Kate?” he asked. I could feel him stiffening under me and I ground out a “yes” that ended in a hiss.

“I’m going to lie here with you, teasing your succulent breasts and pleasuring your sweet little clit for as long as you can stand. Can I do that, lovely?” He’d started to swirl his fingers along my pussy lips, delving deeper to find the hard little button peeking out between them. The oil in the water only served to make his fingers slicker against me.

“Yes…please,” I whispered. One of my hands found its way into Tom’s hair behind me, the other still gripping the side of the bathtub.

“Look how beautiful you are for me, all flushed,” he ran his slick hand to my other breast, pinching the nipple and giving it some deserved attention. “Do you think I can make you come, sweet girl?”

_“Mmm…_ I think…so,” I laughed a little, gasping when he began circling his index finger around my clit.

“I know I can,” he kissed my neck again, putting his chin on my shoulder to look down at what his hands were doing. “I’ve made you come before, haven’t I?”

I bit my lip as he returned to my left breast, tickling his fingers on the underside before tracing water droplets around and around the hardened point of my areola.

“…a few times without you knowing,” I intoned lowly. He bit my shoulder softly and I cried out, hips starting to hitch toward his hand.

“Look down, my lovely girl,” he whispered in my ear. “Look at your sweet little pussy, throbbing for my touch.” The aural stimulation was bad enough; watching him touch me ratcheted my desire even higher. I started breathing very short, stuttering breaths.

“Do you know that I adore you, Kate?” He moved his hand from my breast and returned it to hold me across my stomach, preventing me from rocking my hips into his hand. The inability to move made me feel the aching stabs of arousal all the more. “That I’m here at your disposal, sweet girl, to make you feel so good all weekend? To show you how much I appreciate you and your delicious little body?”

“Oh, _god_ Tom,” I whined. I felt pinpricks of sweat break out along my forehead, the heat from the water combining with my straining toward release.

“And I’m so, so sorry I’ve been awful to you…keep watching me play in your wetness, baby,” he crooned. He began to circle three of his fingers around my pulsing clit, still holding me down so I couldn’t seek out the friction and rhythm I needed.

_“Please…”_ I begged, tears forming in my eyes. I was so close, but his light, careful strokes weren’t enough to send me over the edge. I placed both my hands atop his – one along my tummy and the other between my legs, wanting to feel him.

“Do you need me to touch you harder? Faster?” He kissed my cheek, lips lingering there. “I’ll do whatever you need, sweet girl.”

All I could do was nod, moaning his name, as he continued to hold me tightly with one arm across my middle. He finally picked up the pace of his other hand, allowing me to press my fingers against his own as he rubbed my clit furiously.

“There, my love? Right there, _yes?_ Oh, my sweet, I know that feels so _good,_ doesn’t it? Yes…”

I was seconds away.

If he had learned anything about me, it was that his voice tended to…move things along. And he delivered, touching me with a quickening pace and a lowering voice, right against the shell of my ear.

“You’re shaking, baby. I know you’re close…you’re going to come all over my fingers and it’s going to feel so good…and then I’m going to take you to bed and love your slick, tight little cunt with my soft tongue,” he continued.

I met my end as soon as he uttered his last phrase.

“And I’m going to wake you in the night so that I can finally have you…feel you creaming and clenching on my cock.”

 

 

He was the perfect gentleman – I could hardly imagine it – after I’d come unceremoniously in the bath. He held me while I came down, shushing me and murmuring nonsense in my ear, stroking his hands along my sides and legs. When I’d recovered myself, without thinking, I nudged my bottom against his lap and still felt his erection.

_Oh god…he must be really uncomfortable._

“No, my sweet. This isn’t about me, yet,” he said, moving me off of him. We helped one another stand up and he stepped out first, guiding me onto the bathmat and into a fluffy towel. I thanked him, blushing to the tips of my ears at what had just transpired.

_How different from the other encounters…_

When he had dried himself off, he ushered me, still wrapped in my towel, to the bedroom.

“Now, lovely, I know you’re used to doing for me, but as I’ve explained, everything is about you, Kate. Dry off, stretch out, and lie down on top of the duvet, would you please?” He didn’t wait for an answer but returned to the bathroom to retrieve something.

That something clearly wasn’t clothing, because he came back to the bedroom, tall and lithe, with an angry erection still bobbing outward. My mouth actually salivated at the sight of it.

He had a small bottle of the vanilla lotion I’d packed in his hands, and tossed it lightly onto the bed, a desirous look in his eyes as he came to sit beside me where I lay, supine and relaxed after my – evidently – first orgasm of the evening.

“On your tummy, sweet girl. I’m going to give you a quick little rubdown from head to toe. Make sure you’re putty in my hands,” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. I laughed, momentarily sated and relaxed.

I turned over, my flesh chilling in the exposed air. He didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh, Kate. This just won’t do. Let me carry you in by the fire, hmm? Got to keep my girl warm, haven’t I?” He scooped me up, nodding for me to grab the lotion bottle, and carried me carefully into the living room, where he sat me on the couch. I watched as he spread the soft blanket from the couch onto the floor by the fire, and then held out his hand to help me onto the cushy fabric. The heat from the fire warmed my chilled skin; the light cast a warm glow on his handsome, angular features.

Impulsively, I leaned in to kiss him. He pretended to push me away, tickling my sides as he arranged me on my front on the blanket. “Stop trying to distract me, lovely. I’ve got a massage to give,” he laughed.

I rested my head on my arms, head tilted toward the sparking sounds of the fire. I was already so relaxed from my time in the tub with Tom, but when the first touch of his hands spread from my shoulder blades, down to my tiny behind, and even further down the length of each leg, I sighed happily. “You’re really pulling out all the stops, aren’t you?” I grinned.

I felt him lean over me, kissing my shoulder and massaging his way back up to my lower back.

“I told you, lovely. I want you to let me take care of you. Let me be good to you for a change,” he continued to work some of the knots he found in my muscles. I groaned in pleasure as he sought to work out my pressure points. “Ohh. That’s _wonderful.”_

He hummed low in his throat at the sounds I was making. “Am I doing a satisfactory job for you, sweet girl?”

“Ungh. Yes.”

“Would you turn over for me, love?” he sat back on his heels, watching me as I rolled onto my back, stretching lazily like a cat. I caught his eyes flitting from my breasts down to the dampened cleft between my thighs. “Like what you see, Hiddleston?” I wiggled on the blanket a little bit.

He was on top of me immediately, covering every inch of my naked body with his. I gasped at the pleasurable contact – we’d never made it this far. He braced his elbows on either side of my head, and he’d settled between the cradle of my legs, molding himself to me so I could feel every deliciously heated bit of him against me.

“Yes,” he shushed me with a playful lick of his tongue along my mouth. “Now let me finish my good work.”

After running his hands along my arms and lightly down both sides of my neck, he gathered another small bit of lotion and began kneading my breasts ever so softly, moving down my stomach and sides to rest on my hipbones. I reached up and tangled my fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp while he began to rub down the length of my legs. If he wanted me to become restless, it was working well.

I felt his warm breath trailing where his hands left off, as he knelt down to begin kissing his way along one of my thighs. Hands still in his hair, I unconsciously tugged him closer to my sex. He teased, pulling back from my attempts. “Patience, lovely. I promised you more pleasure. But I promised it in bed – in what will be _our_ bed,” he scooped me up again suddenly, abandoning the lotion, blanket, and the still-burning fire.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, resting my head on his shoulder, as we headed back to the bedroom. Suddenly feeling mischievous, I reached down and grabbed hold of him, feeling him still hot and hard between his legs.

Growling, he tossed me on the bed, lightly pushing me as far back as I would go, and grabbed my knees, pulling them open and wide apart.

“My sweet, naughty girl,” he purred. “I’ve already told you,” he bit the inside of my left thigh just hard enough for me to squeal. “It’s not my turn yet.”

He laved the spot he had just bitten with his tongue, looking into my wide, anticipatory gaze as he began to lick a light trail up my leg before stopping right where the crease of my inner thigh met the outer lips of my swollen sex. Crawling up onto the duvet, he situated himself between my spread legs, starting up in that sinful voice of his again.

“Can you come for me again, lovely? Can you keep hold of the sheets at your side while I kiss your sweet, honeyed lips? While I taste what your body offers me?”

My head lolled to the side on the pillows as I moaned out a soft assurance, and I held tightly to the luxurious linen that surrounded me. He wasted no time, parting my folds with one hand and beginning a firm, hot stroke against my clit with that sinful tongue of his.

_“Yesss…”_ was all I could say.

The remaining sounds were small keening noises in the back of my throat. I was already highly aroused, still wet from his attentions in the bathtub and the thorough massaging he’d already given me. I kept thinking about his intentions to focus all his energy and attention on me, on my body. His other promise echoed in my mind – he would wake me in the night and we would finally, after all the lechery and teasing and tension, consummate whatever was between us. The thought of finally feeling all of him inside me, of losing control with him filling me to the brim, was almost too much to take. The ache inside of my swollen pussy was unbearable, and just the mere idea of him, well endowed as he was, sliding into me, had me begging.

_“Please,_ Tom…I need…” And somehow, he could tell I needed more.

Humming naughtily, he thrust two of his fingers into my cunt, never stopping his languid licks against my clit. Those delightful fingers gave my greedy little pussy something to grab onto, and I could feel my muscles begin to rhythmically contract around them. He broke away momentarily to groan his pleasure at this recent development.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he moaned as he began to curl his fingers and rub the sensitive spot of my inner walls. “Is that better, my lovely?” He kissed my throbbing button.

_“Fuck…yes…”_ I cried, rolling my hips in a sensual movement that had me receiving his fingers thrust for thrust.

“Such a good girl,” he intoned once more, before returning to my slickened clit. He laved at the bundle of nerves lightly, knowing instinctively that the lesser contact would have me straining further towards an inevitable end. He alternated between gentle licks and kisses, teasing me with the point of his tongue while those deliciously long fingers kept their insistent push and pull inside me.

I was becoming severely frustrated at his lack of consistency – he would stop every so often to breathe a warm puff of air on my clit, or nip at it lightly with his teeth, breaking any sort of pattern I so desperately needed. My urgency was betrayed when my fists lost their place at my sides and I grabbed the back of Tom’s head, purely on instinct. This did nothing to encourage him, merely causing him to climb the length of my body, eyes dark, while his fingers still thrust slowly within me. My poor, swollen clit was totally abandoned.

I huffed out a harsh breath in agony.

He pouted prettily at me, hovering atop my quivering frame, watching my distressed face.

“Not enough, is it?” he crooned.

I shook my head, hips struggling to find some sort of friction between the two of us to ease the ache at the apex of my thighs. My arms latched around his shoulders, reminiscent of their placement all those weeks ago in his kitchen. How different things were now.

“Do you want me to stroke you, sweet girl? Right where you need it?” His voice couldn’t have dropped any lower and it thrilled me. He sounded so dark.

I begged, no shame left in me. _“T–Tom…please,”_ I mewled. “P–Please make me come.” I was taut, shaking like a leaf in a violent storm. My back arched higher and higher with each passing minute.

Where normally this would have turned into a power play – some sick game of dominance on his part – we were past those times. He immediately began to swipe the pad of his thumb along my drenched little nub, bottom to top, focusing all his attentions on the sensitive underside. Ordinarily, this would have been enough for me. But with his thumb occupying the most pivotal part of my body, fingers of the same hand meticulously coaxing pleasure out of me from the inside, and his face hovering above mine, I was on absolute overload.

I held on as he began kissing me softly, breaking away every so often to continue talking.

_I would walk through hell to listen to him talk for the rest of my life. Goddamn._

“I love being so helpful for you, Kate,” he pressed his thumb harder against my clit as a new wave of wetness burst forth to coat his fingers. “Your beautiful body responds so well for me. I think it likes me.”

I craned my neck up to press a feverish kiss to his lips, breathing erratically.

“Think how wet and ready I’m getting you for later, when we’ve both slept awhile and I wake in the night,” he broke away.

I felt the clench in my belly starting.

“And I have the entire weekend, my lovely, to have you _all over_ this cottage. On every surface…in as many ways as I can tangle up that little body.”

_I just need…a little bit…more…_

He leaned down to capture my right earlobe between his teeth. _“Come,_ baby. Be my good girl…”

He talked me through the entire orgasm, drawing it out until it was almost painful.

“Oh, sweet girl, _yes…_ milk my fingers with that pussy, baby…that’s my good girl. You’re so fucking _gorgeous_ like this.”

I finally moved away from him slightly, seeking refuge from his talented hands and mouth. Catching my breath, I curled onto my side and managed to slide myself under the covers. I watched as Tom left the room, going back to the living room to check the fire, make sure the front door was locked, and to switch off the lights. All while gloriously naked.

_Lord. Look at him._

Figuring that he’d given me what he thought I was owed, I prepared myself to fall asleep alone, after the emotional connection of physical closeness had been broken. After all, sex of any kind was, to Tom, wholly separate from emotion.

_Or that’s what he’d said._

When I felt the bed dip and his scent enveloped me, I was immediately gathered into his arms as he pulled me to rest against him. One hand in my hair, the other draped securely around my waist, his front pressed warmly to my back. The erection he’d sported earlier had calmed, and I knew he was tired from his long drive and the various attentions he’d paid me.

He placed a soothing trail of kisses from my neck to my shoulder, hugging me as if this was what we were supposed to have done all along.

“Sleep, my lovely girl.”

I only had the energy to squeeze my hand lightly on his arm before I nodded off, safe and sated.


	12. Runaway, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom wakes Kate in the night…to keep his promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord Jesus. I need a change of panties and either a frigidly cold shower or some extended alone time. This is nothing but sex. I'd like to remind everyone that I don't know Tom Hiddleston (and OC is fictional) but if he is *anything* like what is written here…I would DIE. Incinerate. Holy god.
> 
> (Love you all.)

I was so exhausted that I slept a deep, dreamless slumber. Nothing, ordinarily, could have woken me from it. But Tom Hiddleston was curled around me in bed, and he had apparently woken after a brief sleep, feeling ravenous for me.

I came to just as he started spreading my thighs apart, still spooning me and whispering softly in my ear.

“Open your legs, lovely,” he purred. “It’s time for you to wake up so I can make love to you,” those delicious fingers of his delved between my legs to find me still soaked. He groaned at my tribute for him. I turned slightly toward him, still somewhat asleep, spreading my legs involuntarily at his pleasurable touch and calling his name softly.

“Yes, sweet,” he began to nip at my neck. “I know you’re tired, my lovely girl, but I think we’ve waited long enough, haven’t we?” he asked longingly, rubbing the length of his middle finger along my slick folds until my clit was standing at attention, peeking through the swollen flesh surrounding it.

Coming out of my fog, my mind began thinking rationally.

“Tom I’m not on any – I don’t have…”

“Shh, sweet girl,” he continued to explore my pussy, feeling the sticky arousal flowing against his elegant fingers. “I would never put you in danger, would I? Hmm?” I shook my head, aching bursts of pleasure starting to throb in my belly and between my shaking legs.

He moved away from me and crawled down to the edge of the bed, where he kneeled down momentarily to swipe his tongue gently against my little bud, flicking it in rapid succession.

“God, Tom…please…” I moaned helplessly, becoming more agitated when he got up off the bed and moved over to his pile of clothes by the bathroom, digging into his jacket. I heard a rip – and then something angry clicked in my head.

“Did you bring condoms?” I sat up, closing my legs and staring at him accusingly. “Did you figure you’d get me into bed and _fuck_ me, despite reassuring me you were _only_ coming to talk to me?!” The pit in my stomach grew.

He rushed back over to the bed, fear crossing his features. And then his face changed. Cool dominance fell over him like a curtain, and the voice issuing from his mouth became reminiscent of Loki himself.

“ _Stop…right…now_ ,” he began, tossing the condom onto the nightstand and stretching himself out on the bed beside me. “Give me your hands. _Now.”_ Not angry…just, authoritative.

I conceded, though I was still angry for his assumptions about this little trip he’d taken. Holding out my hands, I was pulled forward when he took both my palms in one of his and placed them against his chest, right over his heart. The angle I was stretching was awkward, so I found myself curled into him. His other arm, free of my own hands, wrapped around me and held me tightly to him. Still fatigued, I laid my head on his chest.

“Feel my heartbeat, lovely, while I tell you some things,” he growled. “If you haven’t realized it yet, I’m _very…attached_ to you. I did not lie to you when I said I wanted to come find you and thank you for all you’ve done for me. Nor did I lie to you when I said I wanted to spend this precious time taking care of you.”

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

“Do you like the way I make you feel when we’re together, sweet girl?” I nodded, splaying my fingers wide over his pectoral, feeling the steady beat of him.

“Do you want me to leave you alone? To come away from here not having been shown just how much I want to worship you?”

The word “no” sprang forth sheepishly from my lips before I could stop it.

“Was I right to be prepared, on the off chance that you’d yield in temptation to me, as I want to yield to you, so that we’d have no worries other than finding satisfaction in one another? So that I could do my best to bring you unimaginable pleasure?”

_Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump._

I was ashamed at the conclusion I’d just jumped to. “You were right, Tom.”

He squeezed my hands, still holding them to his chest. Moving so he was leaning over me, I was forced gently onto my back, his beautiful outline lingering closely above me. He let my hands go and sat back on his heels, wedging himself between my spread legs, and looking down at my body. Running his hands along my shoulders and arms, sweeping them down my breasts and ribs, he stopped when he reached my hipbones, tenderly curling his fingers around them.

“I am most definitely not perfect, my lovely one,” he leaned forward slightly to kiss the tips of my breasts, “but I’ve told you – I’ll take even _myself_ to task for hurting you. Do you remember what you said to me when we were preparing to go to the Eye?” he asked, starting to rub large palms along the outside of my thighs in a soothing manner.

I shook my head, turning to look away. He channeled Loki again. “Give me your eyes, sweet girl. _Now.”_

_Well, fuck. That works too well._

He continued talking, now running his hands the length of my legs. “You told me you knew I would make sure you were ok. And I will always do anything in my power to make that so. Do you understand, Kate?” He laid himself flat between my legs, our chests pressed together, his arms braced at my sides.

I nodded.

Placing a sharp nip at my collarbone, he began working his way up my neck with open-mouthed kisses, leaving a warm, wet trail in his wake. “Tell me, sweet.” My eyes had closed and I had tilted my head, giving him as much access as he wanted to the sweet spots he was kissing.

“Yes, Tom,” I panted. He kissed his way to my lips, our mouths meeting at the same time I felt him press his hot, hard cock against my gushing sex.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he ground out as he rubbed himself against my wet heat, “and I’ll take you in my arms and put you back to bed.”

_“Ohhh…”_ was all I could manage. My hips were grinding into his, a deep flush covering my body. He was huge.

“Tell me you _do_ want this,” he reached down and rubbed the head of his swollen penis up and down my slit, “and I’ll be so, so good to you, sweet girl. I’ll do all the things to you I’ve wanted to do for months.”

“Yes…yes _please,”_ I sobbed. I was grabbing onto him to keep the blissful pressure against my center.

“I brought protection, lovely, because I want you to feel my cock pulsing deep inside of you all weekend long. You’re going to be wrapped around me,” he reached back to place my legs around his hips, then continued his slow grind, “and you’re going to _come,_ and _come,_ and _come for me_.”

A longing whine was coming from the back of my throat, his words turning me inconsolable with lust for him. Reaching with his long arm to fetch the condom he’d tossed onto the bedside table, I took in his lean musculature, his taut stomach, his strong thighs.

“You are the _most beautiful man_ I’ve ever met,” I whispered truthfully, in awe of his silhouette in the dim of nighttime. He looked down, smiling shyly, bringing himself to a sitting position as he tore open the condom wrapper and pulled out the little round bit of latex.

I watched greedily as his veined forearms flexed, fingers rolling the sheath onto his straining member.

_How is all of that going to fit inside me?_

Despite the frenzy of arousal I felt, I was worried that Tom would feel rushed, and I hadn’t been with anyone in quite some time. He moved to settle himself between my legs again and I put my hands out on his chest, stopping him.

“Tom?” I whispered, embarrassment coloring my tone. He curled the fingers of his right hand in my hair, tracing his thumb along my furrowed brow. His left hand stroked along the satin flesh of my breasts.

“Yes, my sweet girl?”

“I haven’t…um…had s–sex in awhile, and I’m…small, so…” I closed my eyes, feeling very self-conscious.

He kissed me fervidly, humming a pleasured sound against me as he lined up his hips to mine. “Oh, my good little girl. I’m going to go so _excruciatingly_ slowly…so, so slowly that you’re going to feel relief when I’m finally seated deep inside of you.”

He raised up onto a forearm, grasping his cock with his other hand, and slowly pushed the tip inside me. Looking at my face, eyebrow cocked into a look of equal concern and teasing, he asked me what I needed.

“I’m going to stop right here, lovely, and you tell me what your body needs…or do I already know, beautiful girl?” He gathered some of the honey flowing from me onto his fingertips, sliding them softly against my clit, back and forth, breaking into a feral grin when he heard me gasp and tense up.

“Baby likes when I rub that little sweet spot, doesn’t she?” he purred. “It’s so _fucking soaked_ for me…” he continued to brush his fingers lazily against the nerves at my apex, leaning down to my mouth to capture one of my lips in between his teeth, biting lightly.

_“Hhhnnggh…”_ I groaned, feeling him slowly slide more of his thickness into my throbbing cunt. He paused again, still torturing my clit and kissing his way over to my ear.

“Do you want me to talk to you, sweet girl? Do you like my voice?” He thrust into me a bit more, pulling back out, then plunging back in slightly, coating himself in my wet heat. I dug my fingernails into his ass cheeks, my hips starting to move of their own volition.

“Hottest fucking _…ahhh…voice_ I’ve ever heard,” I panted. He hissed, partially at the bite of my nails, and partially at the compliment. I’d never been forthcoming about my fetish for his voice. His face darkened as he found an octave that he knew would help us along.

“I can feel what it does to you, lovely.” He reached down, once more, to the place where I gushed for him, and gathered more of my juices to slather around the top of my pussy, watching my pupils blow. “Look down, sweet girl,” he commanded darkly. “Watch that swollen, aching pussy split open for my dick. You’re going to feel so _full,_ aren’t you?”

He slid slowly, finally, the rest of the way in, steeling himself and not moving a muscle once he’d seated himself within me. Watching my reaction, he moved his fingers from my folds and sucked them into his mouth, eyes closing in delight.

_“Mmmm,_ my good girl. You took my cock so well.”

Sensory overload would be a polite term for what hit me next. Slowly, carefully, but firmly, Tom began to move inside of me. It was a very, very snug fit. My legs had anchored themselves around his waist, and he resumed his methodical assault on my clit while he alternated between kissing me and speaking in that low, crooning voice.

“…wanted you like this since I first tasted you…”

“…does my cock feel good rubbing you inside, baby?...”

“…my sweet girl _…yes, baby…_ rock your hips…”

His voice sounded so filthy, and yet he was saying such alluring, sweet things. I had no time to appreciate the irony when he pivoted back onto his knees, pulling me up with him, wrapping my legs around his waist. Gravity pushed me down further as I found myself in a sort of lotus position, limbs draped around Tom’s, no space between us.

“God, I fucking…love…this,” I squealed. I began to grind myself harder down on his girth, panting when I heard him chuckle lowly.

_“Oooh._ Lovely girl,” he panted. “I can feel that slick little clit rubbing against me, can’t I?” He wrapped an arm around my back and tangled a hand in my hair, pulling me tighter against him. “So fucking wet, sweet. Is all this…for _me?”_

I bit him lightly on his shoulder, pressing myself more tightly against him when I answered. _“Yes…sir...”_

He pressed a forceful kiss to my mouth, groaning when I opened and licked his lips for entrance. He flicked his tongue against mine in much the same rhythm as I felt him plunging in and out of my pussy.

“I used to get hard every time you called me sir, my sweet little bitch,” he growled against my mouth, pumping his hips particularly hard to meet my hitching ones. “I wanted you on the floor of the Tate, baby love.”

I whimpered, reaching down to touch myself, needing more stimulation. He slapped my hand away and pressed his own fingers against me, circling my clit, hard and fast.

"I fantasized about you riding my dick, drenching me with your cum, when we were in the Eye together.” He was staring at me, crooning these admissions, still furiously assaulting my wet little nub. He pulled me off of him, gently pushing me backwards onto the bed, as he continued to talk. I almost cried at the loss of sensation, the loss of fullness, as he dropped forward and began whispering atop my clit. His warm breath had me contracting, desperate for stimulation.

“I wanted to eat you out during _Turandot,_ sweet girl. Had our tickets been booked earlier,” he breathed onto me, “I would have lapped at you in a private box, fucking you slowly with my mouth.” All I could do was moan at his lurid fantasies. He suddenly leaned down to suck gently on my clit, humming approval at my taste and my sounds. I grabbed his hair and spread my legs as wide as I could, the lower half of my body rising off the bed to meet his hungry mouth. The obscenely wet noises he was making only served to inflame me more.

“Jesus _fuck…Tom!”_ He looked up at the sound of his name, unlatching from me and swiftly thrusting into my hypersensitive sex, rocking the both of us slightly backward, deep into the softness of the bed. We both groaned at the still-snug fit our bodies made. As he began strong, steady thrusts, he kept speaking.

“I wanted to clear that room at the Savoy, lovely, and undress you on top of the dining table,” he began, then issued an order before he continued. “Touch yourself, baby… _yes_ …oh you’re so, _so good_ for me, aren’t you?”

I barely ground out, “uh…huh,” before he continued with his Savoy talk. “I wanted you on all fours,” he started pounding into me harder, grunting, “so I could watch your beautiful body taking pleasure from me…right on the table.”

The agony was exquisite: the pleasures of his voice and his body combined with his revealing what he’d wanted all along were helping me reach that peak I desperately, desperately needed. But I wanted more.

“T–Tom,” I stuttered, grabbing onto his forearms as I tightened around him – outside and in. _“Touch me…please.”_

“Oh, my baby. I love…when…you need me…” he purred. “Does my sweet girl… _ahh_ …need to come?” He looked on the verge himself, forehead creased and muscles straining. I nodded furiously, throwing my head back and crying out when the pad of his thumb nestled itself snugly against me where I needed it most.

“God, lovely…you’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you? I can feel you grasping at my cock…” he continued to rub me forcefully, swearing under his breath.

“Tom… _oh god_ …” I was white-hot with pleasure-pain, feeling the coil twisting tighter and tighter in my belly.

“You’re going to make me come, Kate,” he pressed his sweaty forehead to mine, a curl of hair dropping onto his forehead. “But I need…you to…come first, lovely. Can you… _oh god_ ,” his fingers were drenched, swirling around and around my clit. “C–Can you say my name, baby?” He snapped his hips hard, bottoming out each time, eyes pleading with me as he touched me. “Say my name…sweet girl. Tell me who takes… _fuck_ …such good care of you…”

We were both panting, slick with sweat and my arousal. “Goddamn, Tom,” I groaned. “Your fingers are… _ooooh_...”

His rhythm stuttered and I knew he was as close as I was. “I won’t stop…until you…c–come, lovely,” he shuddered. Pinching my clit, he abused the little nub, tapping it harshly until I screamed loudly, begging him.

“Right there…right there… _please don't stop..._ ”

He began rubbing tight circles again. “Come, baby…be my good girl and come…all…over…my…cock…” he roared.

The strong contractions of my pussy had him shouting his release, while I shook and whined and held on tightly to him. He groaned, loud and low in his throat, hips still stuttering as he forced himself as deep inside me as he could go. His nimble fingers never let up on my clit, rubbing insistent, if not rhythmic, circles against my soaked flesh.

In the last split second of climax, he pressed his lips to mine, drinking in my cries and exhalations, moaning my name over and over against my mouth. Careful not to collapse on top of me, Tom gingerly extricated himself from me, rolling over and heading to the bathroom to deposit the used condom in the trash.

I was too exhausted to move, choosing instead to take stock of my throbbing sex, my trembling legs, and my racing heartbeat. I heard the water running in the bathroom as I lay half awake, listening to Tom washing his hands and wringing out a washcloth.

Moments later, I had almost nodded off when I felt said warm washcloth tenderly wiping my face and between my legs. “There, sweet girl. That okay?” he looked down at me with concern, seeming to evaluate my overall well-being. “I haven’t hurt you, have I?” I shook my head and smiled, grabbing the washcloth from him and throwing it aside, reaching out to him.

He grinned, a boyishly happy look, and rejoined me under the covers. We found ourselves soon spooned in the same position we’d slept in hours earlier, Tom’s lips pressed against the cooling skin of my shoulder.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Darkness still pervaded the bedroom, with only a tiny sliver of watery light peeking through the edge of the curtains, when I was roused what was probably only a few hours later. Soft kisses were placed along my shoulder blade and neck, the warm body behind me snuggling into me more closely. “I’m sorry, my lovely,” his low, sleepy voice appeared in my ear. “You’re just so intoxicating and warm and wonderful.”

I wriggled against him a little, feeling him harden, listening to his happy groan.

“Don’t you want to sleep, love?” I asked him. He heard the smile in my voice.

_Oh shit. I just called him ‘love’…_

He turned me over towards him, shaking his head. “No ma’am,” he nuzzled my throat, whispering lowly. “Will you be a good girl and let me touch you again?” His wandering hand crept down past my belly, and I gasped a little as he sank his fingers into my folds. “Still _so wet,_ sweet girl,” he breathed against me. “Are you sore?”

I heard the concern in his tone, and realized I was flinching a little. I nodded, reaching over to run my hands through his disheveled hair.

_He looks perfect._

Tom coaxed me over to him, situating me so I lay gently atop his body. “My good girl…” he started, stroking one hand up and down my back while the other played in my hair. “I’m so sorry I’ve made you uncomfortable, lovely.”

I laughed a little at his dramatics, although he did seem slightly worried he’d caused some sort of damage to me.

“Can I help you, sweet? Can I kiss it and make it better…?”

I groaned, feeling the wetness pooling between my thighs again. He could evidently feel it too, as I unconsciously rubbed myself against his hipbone.

“Up here, Kate,” he purred, hauling me up his chest to straddle him, pulling my bottom down onto his upper chest. “Let me help, baby.”

I scrabbled for the headboard with my hands as he snaked his tongue between my glistening folds, dipping into my core and then sweeping up to my little swollen pearl.

“Baby…” I breathed, _“_ I _….aahh…_ can’t _…”_ I begged. I was so sensitive from all of his attentions. And then I realized I’d called him baby. We were becoming very close, very fast. It frightened me a little. But once he backed off slightly, holding my legs open with his hands and kissing my clit over and over, softly, my mind pretty much went blank.

_Kiss._

_Lap._

_Lick._

_Kiss._

He broke away to speak feverishly, breath heating my dripping pussy. “I can’t get enough of you, lovely,” he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to my folds. “Do it again for me, please.” He swirled his tongue around my clit, holding my hips in place. I was trying unsuccessfully to squirm away from the intensity of the pleasure.

“Do what?” I breathed, trying to tease him even as I gripped the head of the bed and clenched my teeth together to keep from crying out loudly.

His voice dropped as low as he could get it.

“Come just for me. From my touch. From my mouth. From my body.”

I sought out his velvet tongue, pressing into him immediately, seeking to soothe yet another ache he’d started.

_This is unbelievable. Four times…_

He mouthed at me lightly, not wanting to hurt me, but the lighter his kisses and licks, the wetter and more wanton I became. My knuckles were white atop the headboard, I grabbed so firmly. Pushing myself down onto him, he loosened his iron grip so I could writhe into his mouth at my own pace.

_“God…”_ I choked. “I can’t fucking stop with you…”

He hummed in delight as he pressed his mouth further into me, licking a slick trail up and down from my entrance to my clit. I moved against him mindlessly, searching for my end. With long arms, he grabbed my hands from the headboard and held them in his own, bringing them down onto the pillow so I held his hands above his head.

He was forcing me to look down. I opened my eyes, finding him staring at me intensely, nose brushing my pubic bone and tongue peeking out every so often to circle delicately around my swollen little button.

Barely breathing, I was exhausted, unbelievably turned on, and I wanted it to go on forever. He slowed his pace again, relegating himself to soothing kisses against my most throbbing spot.

_One…after…another…_

After a few moments, he followed each kiss with a barely-there swipe of his tongue against me. I started moving my hips, finding myself begging him, again, to finish me off.

“There…yes… _please_ , Tom. _Oh my god_ …” I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. We were in the exact same position I’d put us in after the opera, and the entire feeling of the situation had changed. Completely. I still held on for dear life, fucking his tongue with an urgency I hadn’t yet expressed. But he wasn’t leering at me, there was no hatred…I could see in his gorgeous baby blues that he was thriving on taking care of me, in every sense.

When I started to come, he yanked his hands from mine and wrapped both arms possessively around my thighs, pulling all of my weight onto him. The groan that issued from his mouth vibrated along my pulsing center, betraying just exactly how much he was enjoying my pleasure.

After deciding he had wrung everything out of me, certain that I could no longer support my own weight sitting up, he helped me lie back down beside him, the both of us returning to what was turning into a comforting sleeping position that we liked: him curved protectively around me, our legs entangled, bodies pressed back to front.

Breathlessly, I snuggled back into him, murmuring my thanks, sort of dazed.

“You’ll spoil a girl with so much oral,” I grinned sleepily.

His reply came several beats later, very softly. “I’ve…never been one to give it a lot,” he confessed. “It’s… _different_ with you.”

I blushed, running my hand along his arm that was wrapped possessively around my middle.

“Sleep, sweet girl,” he kissed my hair. “I won’t wake you anymore.”

I could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, once again, beating faintly at my back.


	13. Runaway, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Kate's weekend continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is late, loves. Work is gearing up for me quite a bit. I keep saying I'll end this story soon, but I'm finding that a lot needs to happen between these two, especially during this weekend stay they're having. Some more smut…(and maybe feelings).

After sleeping a few more hours, I finally awoke, my stomach growling. I had burned so many calories, I mused humorously to myself, that I needed to replenish with a big breakfast. I’d fucked; now I wanted to feast.

_That man deserves some pancakes for last night’s attentiveness._

Tom, dozing soundly beside me, looked as if he’d need sustenance too. He was in a deep sleep, and I was able to extricate myself carefully from his grasp. My heart gave a pull at how serene – how handsome – he looked, spread out under the sheets in the morning light. I watched his chest rising and falling evenly, observed the pulse in his neck.

_What would it be like to have this all the time?_

I shook my head at my naiveté. He’d promised me this weekend, and I knew better than to think that outside the walls of this cottage, we’d be anything more. I would enjoy what was happening while it lasted, and then I would move on with my life, just as I had planned. Just as Tom knew; just as Luke knew.

Quietly padding over to my bag, I put on a fresh pair of lacy panties and an off-the-shoulder t-shirt that was worn and soft. I ran a hand through my wavy, bed-headed locks and decided this was the best it was going to get.

Thinking about Luke moments ago had me checking my phone, since today was the one day I told him he could bother me with work-related issues. Sure enough, I had several texts from the boss himself when I unlocked my screen. Except nothing was work-related. Apparently he’d sent me rapid-fire messages last evening, and I’d been so distracted by Tom’s arrival that I’d forgotten to check my phone after dinner.

_**Don’t yell at me if Tom calls you, Yank! I held him off as long as I could! If you’re not in Cornwall, where did you go??** _

_**He’s going to try and find you… I know it’s your vacation so I went ahead and rearranged Tom’s schedule for the weekend. He told me to put everything on hold…is he there?** _

_**Are you talking to him?** _

_**Kate! Is Tom with you???** _

_**Just text me when you get this so I know everything is ok.** _

I smirked a little at the uncertainty in Luke’s texts. It wasn’t often that he was kept out of the loop – and it seemed that Tom hadn’t informed Luke of his whereabouts last evening, either.

_Not like he had time…he WAS a little occupied, wasn’t he?_

Giggling quietly, I sent Luke a single reply before I started preparations for breakfast.

_**We’re good.** _

By the time I’d walked to the fridge to retrieve butter, eggs, milk, and blueberries to start on the pancakes, he’d responded.

_**I KNEW IT! I’d say this violates your contract but you’re quitting anyway, aren’t you? :P** _

I tapped out a ‘yes’ and shut my phone off so I could focus on getting together a delicious breakfast. I started the coffee, set to work on my pancake batter, and got out the necessary utensils for our meal. Humming quietly to myself, I swayed back and forth to the song in my head as I folded together the batter and added the washed blueberries. The aroma of coffee was filling the cottage and I smiled in pleasure at the thought of how good everything was going to taste. I dropped a small pat of butter onto a now-warmed skillet and began to prep my first pancake.

“My, my. What a lucky man I am.”

He didn’t quite startle me, but hearing that delicious voice hoarse with sleep about did me in. I giggled softly and spooned some batter into the pan, turning to look at him. Clad in just his boxers, all of the defined muscles in his lithe body were on display in the daylight. My mouth flooded with the urge to taste him.

“How long have you been standing there?” I grinned, turning back around to grab some mugs for the coffee and then flipping the first pancake to brown on its other side. I felt him walk up behind me, and heard his answer as his arms wrapped around my middle. “Long enough to stare at that gorgeous backside of yours barely being covered by your shirt. And long enough to watch my favorite cook at work,” he murmured in my ear.

He stayed wrapped around me, moving when necessary, as I made quick work of the coffee and finished preparing a huge stack of pancakes. By the time we were ready to eat he had taken to trailing kisses down the side of my neck and shoulder. Laughing, I shooed him away, mock-chastising him. “If you want food you’d best go sit down, young man,” I scoffed, pulling myself away from him. I handed him his plate and coffee just as he retorted.

“Oooh. Sweet girl is in teacher mode, isn’t she?” he winked. “Speak to me like that again and I’ll have you across my knee, paying _particular_ attention to your backside.”

I tucked into my plate of food, winking back at him, trying to be nonchalant in my answer. “Oh you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

He sat his fork on his plate as his eyes darkened. “Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

_Is he this insatiable all the time?_

I stuck my tongue out at him and resumed eating, effectively ending the conversation. I could see in his eyes, and from his body language, that he was raring to go yet again. But I hadn’t cooked breakfast just so it would sit cold and uneaten. “Everything taste okay for your liking?” I asked, smiling when he closed his eyes after a particularly large and syrupy bite.

“I think I’ve already asked you this, lovely, but are you sure you don’t want to be my personal chef? You could live in my house and I would not only pay your salary but also offer you a wide-ranging spectrum of sexual favors, especially when desserts are involved,” he answered.

Sipping my coffee, I raised an amused eyebrow. “You do love your desserts, don’t you?”

Chewing another bite, he nodded profusely. After swallowing, he leaned toward me conspiratorially. “I do have a proclivity for sweet things.”

It wasn’t until I gathered up our dishes and placed everything in the sink that I heard him continue his train of thought.

“That’s why I’m here.”

It was a line, I knew. But coming from Tom after the months of rudeness and back and forth we’d shared, it felt like a genuine compliment. He’d stretched out on the couch, arms behind his head, ankles crossed. Despite his relaxed frame, his eyes followed my every movement as I straightened up the kitchen. I felt myself growing hot at his stare. Memories of last night began replaying themselves in my mind.

“So I’m just a proclivity, huh?” I asked after the kitchen had been cleared and I wandered into the living area, walking straight over to him. He didn’t say a word. He just continued to run his eyes up and down my body, shaking his head “no”. When his tongue peeked out of his mouth to run quickly across his lower lip, I lost it.

“Get naked, _now,”_ I ordered.

Watching his eyes widen a fraction, I reached down and helped him yank his boxers down his long legs, gathering them in my hands and tossing them onto the floor.

_We’ll see if I’m just a proclivity after this is over._

He was trying to touch me, but I batted his hands away, spouting my next order.

“Hands on the pillow behind you. Do not touch me. Do not say a word. If you do, I’ll stop. Nod if you understand.”

A light flush had crept onto his chest and neck, and I could see him hardening rapidly at my tone and commands. Reaching behind him, he stared solemnly in my eyes as he nodded his understanding. I stood.

“So you think it’s cute when I’m in, as you say, ‘teacher mode’, huh? You think I just boss people around all day and act arrogant and in charge, do you? Well I have a secret for you, _Mister Hiddleston_ ,” I purred, moving toward the head of the couch so I could kneel down and get in his face, placing my mouth right in front of his, “you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to boss around.” I bit his lip just enough to sting, and then trailed my hands down his chest and stomach as I sank to my knees on the floor. I heard a soft whimper as he exhaled above me.

“You’d better make sure those sounds don’t turn into words, Thomas,” I leered, scratching my nails down his hipbones. I could see goosebumps forming all over his thighs and abs.

_Delicious man._

Sitting up on my heels and leaning onto the couch, I continued my orders in a quiet whisper.

“Spread your legs.”

“Remember what I said about stopping – do not touch. Do not talk.”

I draped my silky hair along his left thigh as I turned my head to the side, inching closer and closer to his length as I spoke. “I think I owe you a blowjob, don’t I? After that disastrous run-in in your bath?” I kissed his tip, feeling and hearing a soft, groaning shudder. “Do you think that’s fair, Thomas?” Before he could do anything, I grabbed the base of his shaft and squeezed lightly. “You can answer me.”

He nearly choked. “Y–Yes... _god yes_.”

Readjusting his grip on the pillow behind him, he flexed his arms tightly just as I took him in my mouth, as far as he would go. The deep, strangled noise that issued from his throat caused me to hum around him in pleasure. Raking my nails gently down his right thigh, I began a slow rhythm: languid, sucking strokes, my hand meeting my mouth to cover any part of him that I couldn’t take in. Once my hand had made its journey the length of his leg, I moved to cup his sac, gently rolling his balls around in my small hand. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem like he could last very long. Whether the stimulation I was giving him was varied, or he had just woken in a continued state of arousal from our previous night together, his ab muscles were flexing quite rapidly, and I could hear his erratic breathing. Looking up to catch his eye as I swirled my tongue around the head of his dick, I took in his furrowed brow, his clenched hands above his head, and his hypnotic eyes – normally so blue – dark with the dilation of his pupils. Winking, I stopped all motion.

_He looks like he might cry. Cute._

“Would you like me to go faster, Thomas?” I asked innocently, sitting back so no part of me touched him. “Nod your head.” I licked my lips and ran a hand through my hair as if I was bored. Trying to slow his breathing through his nostrils, he closed his eyes and exhaled, shaking his head “yes” again.

“Would you like to be able to touch me, Thomas?” I splayed my hands on the upper part of his inner thighs, leaning over him once again to lick a quick stripe up his veined, purple cock. “You can answer.” And I spit just a dab on top of him, watching it run down his length to pool against my hand, now moved from his thigh.

“Fuck…” he breathed. It was almost as if he couldn’t come up with an answer to my second question. Perhaps he’d forgotten what it was; that was very possible, since he could only watch me placing small, open-mouthed kisses from his head to his sac. After taking a second to run one fist along the entirety of him, while also sucking one of his balls in my mouth, I repeated my question more firmly.

“Thomas, _answer me_. Would you like to be able to touch me?”

Before he could respond, again, I started a faster rhythm than what I had earlier, combining my mouth and left hand just to agitate him. _“Ahhh…please…god please.”_

Pulling away from him momentarily but still using my hands, I stared at his face, pleasurable agony painted across it, and nodded once before resuming my work. His hands went everywhere, trying to frantically get hold of the situation he’d been denied since the night he found me in his home. At first he dug both palms into my hair, not grabbing, but tightly holding on to try and get some leverage to be able to thrust. When he noticed I wouldn’t allow a rhythm to be established that way, he took to cupping my face in one of his hands and trying to guide me by the back of my neck. I stopped altogether and shot him a warning look.

The angry growl that tore from his throat at my lack of assistance went straight to my core. I resumed my task with relish, enjoying controlling his pleasure. I would move my mouth quickly, tightening my lips to provide the sensation he was looking for, but then I would change my rhythm, or my stroke, or would quit the sucking motion in favor of lazy licks and kisses. In his desperation, and afraid of hurting me, he ended up gripping the sides of the couch and continually glowering at me each time my tactics changed. Things had gotten very tense and quiet around the third or fourth time I stopped and re-started my task. I could feel Tom shaking, either from trying not to grab me or from the adrenaline coursing through his system. He was chasing after something I would give him – eventually – but I wanted to see how long he would cooperate with me. By the time I finally resolved, to myself, to finish him, he tore me off of him and stalked out of the room, leaving me seated on the couch.

His long legs afforded him huge strides, as he was back from the bedroom in mere moments, heading in my direction with a murderous glare on his face and an angry-looking cock between his legs. I told myself to keep in control of the moment, but as soon as he reached the couch, his entire demeanor had changed: angry, domineering, frightening. I could see the muscles of his jaw working as he sat on the couch next to me. And then he brought forth what he’d gone to the bedroom to retrieve. Watching him roll the condom down his shaft, I meant to resume my dialogue as the “boss” when he beat me to it. And by his tone, I had to concede defeat.

“You have _five seconds_ to get naked and get in my lap, my sweet little bitch,” he said as he spread his legs and moved his hips forward on the couch to allow me a place to sit. “Or I am going to make sure you can’t sit for the rest of the weekend.”

I took off my panties and shirt directly in front of him, not missing the hungry way he eyed each newly revealed inch of flesh. But before doing as he asked, I cocked my head to the side, playing with fire a bit more.

“On one condition…” I began.

“Sit. On. It. _NOW,”_ he finished.

I did as I was bid, but before I slid down onto that part of him that was straining toward my warm, wet flesh, I hovered over him, arms around his neck, and continued my request.

“You have to talk to me. Because your voice makes me crazy, Hiddleston.” And then I slammed myself onto him, hissing at the pleasurable pain, the tight fit, the stretch of him taking over my own body.

He grit his teeth as his hands found my hips, and he began pulling me up and down on him, staring into my eyes.

“Oh _fuck,”_ I cried out, moving my arms to grab his shoulders as I undulated with his movements.

“Yes, sweet girl,” he hissed in my face. “How I do so appreciate your mouth and your hands…” he leered as I gasped, feeling him hit a particularly sensitive spot deep within me. “But now that I’ve been inside you, baby, I’d much rather feel that tight little cunt wrapped around me.”

I broke from his gaze to look down, watching as our bodies connected in the most primal way. He was covered in sweat and I was slick from excitement, marveling at how such a short tease of a blowjob had managed to get me wet and ready for him. He didn’t help matters, as usual, when he continued his filthy monologue.

“You like to watch us, lovely? Hmmm?” he ran a hand through my hair, keeping a tight hold with the fingers of his other hand on my hip. “See how slick you are for me, how well we fit together?” He guided my body backward, emphasizing his points by giving me a better view of our connection. I groaned, closing my eyes momentarily at the explicitness of what I saw. He tilted me forward again, bringing me right up against him, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss as I continued to ride him.

“You’re so swollen, baby…” he panted. “I can feel your sweet little clit licking at my stomach when you press against me.”

“Mmmm…oh _fuck,_ Tom…” I cried out.

He moved me faster atop him. “Is it good, sweet girl? Tell me, baby…”

All I could do was clasp myself tighter around him, burying my face in his neck and holding on. The friction was perfect, but as usual, Tom wasn’t content to give me “perfect”. He wanted me to burn for him.

“Be my good girl, lovely,” he said as he prompted me away from him and moved his hand to my mouth. I opened obediently, still feeling aching tendrils of pleasure as the push-pull of our joining continued. Licking the tips of his fingers, I watched rapt as he moved the digits down to my straining little bud, starting a slow, wet rub that had me shivering against him.

“That’s it, sweet,” he panted. “Look how ready you are…” he began to slide his fingers side to side against me, murmuring as we both watched his movements. “Do you like watching me touch you, Kate?”

“Uh–uh huh…” My leg muscles were starting to quiver.

“Will you let me have you again later, my lovely one?” He was starting to shake also, despite trying to keep up a rhythm that would satisfy us both. My arousal spiked when I noticed all of his lean muscles were working overtime just to get us where we so desperately wanted to go. “I promise… _yesss_ …I promise I’ll make it good for you, baby…”

I half-laughed, mid gasp, as he continued to torture the tiny bundle of nerves between my legs. “As if…shit…oh, _god_ Tom…as if you’ve never made it good for me…”

He grinned at me, shivering, and kissed me. The boyishness of the gesture tugged at my heart. I couldn’t help myself. I looked in his eyes, holding his face in my hands, and whispered to him, feeling the coil in my stomach threatening to snap at any second.

“Sweet,” I intoned, referring to him.

His smile vanishing at my endearment, and his face took on an aura of complete dominance. Fingers pressing hard circles into my clit, he thrust as deeply as he could inside me. The response to my single syllable that fell from his mouth was all it took to break the dam that welled inside of me.

_“Mine.”_

 

 

Tom’s pronouncement was underscored as he carried me, my legs still wrapped around his waist and him softening inside me, into the bathroom and gently slipped out to place me on the counter. I watched, still in a pleasurable daze, as he disposed of the used condom and then bent toward the taps of the bathtub to start filling it. When he’d plugged the drain and checked that the temperature was hot enough, he stood up to his full height and turned toward me, holding out his hands.

“Beautiful girl,” he pulled me into his embrace. “Can I wash you, lovely?” His hands running through my hair had me purring, and I nodded my assent, closing my eyes and breathing in the scent of him. He rocked me in place, the two of us doing nothing but swaying back and forth together to the sound of water filling the tub.

I was feeling woozy by the time he broke away from my reach to turn off the taps and dip a hand into the water to test it. Finding it suitable, he beckoned me forward and ushered me into the divinely warm water, steadying me as I stepped into the tub. He soon followed, taking his place behind me, and coaxed me to sink into the tub in front of him, where I exhaled a pleasured breath at the relaxing heat. Instinctively finding my place on his chest, I leaned backward into him and closed my eyes again, splaying my hands into the warmth. A thought suddenly occurred to me and I laughingly voiced my observation.

“We’ve really got to stop meeting like this…in bathtubs,” I chuckled.

He didn’t find humor in my remark that I could tell, for his only response was to cup his hands in the water and carefully pour the liquid over my hair. He took his time, being careful not splash water in my eyes, wetting all of my hair so he could wash it properly. By the time he lathered my vanilla shampoo into his hands and first pressed his fingers against my scalp, working in the suds, I was wondering if his quiet demeanor meant something bad – second thoughts about all this? Was he regretting calling off work today? Was he silently shaming himself for what he said right before we’d both climaxed?

Tilting my head to the side so he could scratch at the nape of my neck – a sensitive spot for me – his mouth found its way to my ear once again.

_He’s really getting too good at this close proximity speaking thing…_

_“Mine.”_

A soft, small moan left me, the product of his declaration – again – and his fingers soothingly washing my hair. When he deemed me soapy enough, he rinsed his hands in the water and had me tilt back so he could rinse out the vanilla lather. Much as before, he took his time, careful to avoid my eyes and careful to get each strand of my hair clean and soap-free. Leaning forward, he urged me to do the same. I was so relaxed I didn’t want to move, but his seductive voice goaded me on.

“There’s my good girl. Hold your hair up for me please, lovely.” I did so, listening to the sound of those big hands lathering up soap for his next task. He started with my shoulders, working down my back and up again, and then concentrated on the bands of muscle in my neck, working his thumbs delicately along any spots he found tense or tightened. It was nice, I had to admit, to let him control things.

Nearly every aspect of our relationship – whatever it was – revolved around me calling the shots, or having to make decisions for him and about him, or even because of him. The _Vanity Fair_ shoot had given me a taste of what he could be like, guiding me – taking the lead. This was an extenuation of that feeling.

_See where it takes you._

He asked me very quietly to turn around and face him, which I was able to do somewhat easily as the bathtub was rather large.

“I’m going to do your front now, sweet girl. Is that alright?”

_Such niceties now. This Tom is so unusual._

I nodded, and he gingerly reached forward to soap up my front – collarbones, arms, breasts, stomach. There was nothing sexual in his touch. Protective, perhaps, but I didn’t get the feeling he was doing this out of some perverse need to feel me up again.

_Not that you’d mind._

When he’d rinsed his hands and gotten another helping of soap, he instructed me politely to stand, watching me as I gracefully stood to my full height in the water. He remained seated, straightening his back so he’d be able to reach around to my lower back and bottom. Noticing me looking down at him and taking stock of his whereabouts, he smiled and gave me a little wink as he soaped the backs of my legs and then my hips. He leaned forward, still maintaining eye contact, and pressed a barely-there kiss to my pussy. There and gone.

Washing the front of my legs, Tom worked his way back up my thighs, saving the tender innermost skin of each for last. I moved forward slightly to rest my fingertips on his broad shoulders, feeling that my legs might give out the more time he spent between them.

I did so just in time, for his final touch was between my still-swollen lips. Inhaling sharply at his touch, he delved his fingers deeper to find me very, very wet and throbbing. Rubbing his fingers back and forth in my honey, he craned his neck to look up at me watching him.

“Tell me all this,” he emphasized with a slickened stroke from my slit to the little patch of curls above my clit, “is for me.”

I ran wet hands through his short curls, gripping onto them as he continued the lightest of touches between my legs. My shy voice surprised me when I answered, almost immediately.

“I think you know it is.”

He didn’t react in any way to my statement, just lightly placed his hands on my outstretched arms and pulled them down gently to signal I should sit back down. I rinsed the soap off of my body, concentrating on my skin rather than meeting Tom’s eyes. He was watching my every movement, barely concealed possessiveness behind his gaze. The dominant tone continued.

“I’m going to clean myself up, sweet girl. Would you like to get dried off and go get comfortable on the couch? I’ll build us a fire as soon as I’m finished.”

It wasn’t a question, and he was already lathering himself up, so I did as I was told. Grabbing a fluffy towel, I made my way into the bedroom, wringing out my hair and drying myself off. I went to retrieve some clothing from my bag but thought better of it – he’d probably just get me out of my clothes anyway.

_And he didn’t tell you to get dressed._

I balked a little at my sudden willingness to obey the man I’d once hated with the fire of ten thousand enraged fangirls, but then figured I could get comfortable beside the fire in one of the couch’s super-soft blankets. I made short work of fluffing my hair dry into long waves, and folded my towel back up, dropping it into the clothes hamper beside the bathroom.

Reentering the living room, I grabbed my phone to check for any new developments from Luke, since today was – once again – my self-declared workday. He hadn’t sent any other messages, and I hadn’t heard from anyone else. Out of sheer habit, I checked some of the gossip sites and news outlets I’d become accustomed to reading. All was quiet. Not a word about Tom anywhere – for once.

_If only things could stay like this. Quiet._

Reveling in the dramatics-free atmosphere, I found the blanket I’d wanted to wrap around myself, grabbed my abandoned Jojo Moyes novel, and settled into a comfortable corner of the couch. Ensconcing myself in Lou’s – the protagonist – worries, I barely noticed when Tom began building the fire he’d promised, fully dressed in what looked like a clean set of clothes.

Just as I’d gotten prematurely upset about the condoms the night before, I felt another pang in my chest at the thought he’d actually planned to stay here all along.

“You really packed thoroughly for this little ‘I just want to talk to you’ trip, didn’t you?” I accused, throwing my book aside. He finished tending the fire, rubbing a hand over his face and then through his hair in thinly veiled irritation. Sighing, he got up and came to sit beside me on the couch. The fact that my arms were crossed was a good sign to him to keep from touching me in that moment.

“Did it ever occur to you, Kate, that I didn’t know where you were, and since Luke wasn’t about to tell me, I might have been driving _far longer_ than I wanted? That I might not have been able to drive all the way back to London if you fled to, say, Manchester and I’d already driven to and from Cornwall?”

_Shit. He has a point._

“Go into our bedroom and look through my bag. You’ll see that I’ve only brought this one spare change of clothes, as well as the condoms you were so up in arms about yesterday. As I recall, you were very, very pleased that I had them by the time we went to sleep last night.”

I hesitated, feeling a bit rude, and he wasted no time.

“Go now, please, lovely.”

The entire walk to the bedroom, I kept hearing one part of his little speech in my head.

_Our bedroom…our bedroom…our bedroom_

Sure enough, his bag offered me proof that he told nothing but the truth. And while me fleeing to Manchester was a stretch of the imagination, I did feel chagrin at what I was accusing him of. However, was it really so unusual to expect Tom Hiddleston to have ulterior motives when it came to the opposite sex?

_Yes, but he seems to be different with you._

Of course, that very thought is the mistake women always make with men who make questionable decisions like Tom had. But again, he’d made his intentions perfectly clear when he showed up at the cottage and hadn’t done anything I was displeased with. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I walked back to the couch, taking in his relaxed posture, once again stretched out beside a now-roaring fire. Placing a kiss on his forehead, I tilted his chin up to look at me and apologized.

“I’m sorry I assumed you to be too forward.”

He waited until I had settled myself back on the couch, book in my hand, before he scooted me backwards to rest against him. He then continued our conversation.

“You can accuse me of being forward with you sweet girl, most definitely. I don’t deny that I would have done just about anything to get you to let me stay here and thank you, properly, for all that you’ve done for me,” he explained, hands rubbing up and down my exposed arms.

I turned in his lap slightly, handing _Me Before You_ back to him. He took the book from me, noting that I had marked my place with a finger.

I didn’t even need to ask him.

“Of course I’ll read to you, baby.”

And he began right where I’d left off.


	14. Untitled (How Does It Feel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A turning point is reached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost done, folks. Next chapter will be the last, the epilogue. Lots of smut in this chapter… (also a tiny moment of daddy kink, which…I need to go be alone).
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Tom alternated between reading to me and napping with me on the couch, warmed by the fire. It was a quiet afternoon, and the only sounds aside from the crackling of the logs were the raindrops pattering against the windows and our occasional conversation, interspersed with Tom’s narration of my novel. He finished the book for me, closing it and placing it lazily on the coffee table in front of us when he noticed that I was wiping tears from my eyes.

“Alright, lovely?” He began to rub my back, pulling me closer into him as he placed soft kisses atop my still-damp hair. I sniffed, closing my eyes and savoring his attentions.

“Yes,” I swallowed. “Just…the book. I didn’t want things to end that way.” I wiped my eyes again as another few stray tears slid out from my lashes.

It was probably that the main characters of the novel had a somewhat similar relationship to what Tom and I had, minus the whole terminal illness of the man. I didn’t want to think of anything like that happening to him, or to me. To us.

_But is there actually an “us”?_

The question – and I already knew the answer, much as I didn’t like it – hung in the air as I struggled a little to regain my composure. I assumed Tom was looking to divert my attention when he moved off the couch away from me, only to go looking for his phone. I sat partially wrapped in my blanket, eyes still moist and ears pricked at the rain, now coming down more forcefully outside. Tom returned to me, tapping on his phone absently. He was having some sort of conversation with someone, but then saw me looking at him and began to concentrate on something else on the device. I could see his eyes skimming along the screen as he read. Without so much as a glance at me, he held out his hand and asked me to come with him.

“Where are we going?” I asked, moving from my sitting position and adjusting the blanket around me tightly.

“Nowhere,” was his response. He set the phone down on the coffee table and led me over near the fire, where he put an arm around my waist and took my other hand in his own. “Dance with me, sweet girl.”

The low, soulful sound of a bass filled the room as Tom pulled me closer into his chest. Flexing our fingers together, he began a slow back-and-forth rock that had me resting my head on his chest, listening to his ever-steady heartbeat. I splayed my free palm on the broad expanse of his back as D’Angelo’s voice began to sing.

 

 

_Girl it’s only you_

_Have it your way_

_And if you want you can decide_

_That if you’ll have me_

_I can provide everything that you desire_

_Said if you get a feeling_

_Feeling that I’m feeling_

_Won’t you come closer to me baby_

_You’ve already got me right where you want me baby_

_I just wanna be your man_

 

I knew the song. It had been one of my favorites, years ago – I knew the words and the way D’Angelo phrased each one of them. But I’d never had much reason to pay attention to the message before now. And I wasn’t sure why Tom chose this song. It had to have been deliberate. But was it just his roundabout way of telling me something, silently, letting a singer do the work for him? I didn’t know.

 

_How does it feel_

_How does it feel_

_Said I wanna know how does it feel_

_How does it feel_

_How does it feel_

 

_I wanna stop_

_Silly little games you and me play_

_And I am feeling right on_

_If you feel the same way baby_

_Let me know right away_

_I’d love to make you wet In between your thighs cause_

_I love when it comes inside you_

_I get so excited when I’m around you, I_

 

_How does it feel_

_How does it feel_

_Said I wanna know how does it feel_

_How does it feel_

_How does it feel_

 

We rotated slowly, in our own intimate circle, taking in the fiery flames licking the grate, then watching rivulets of rain streaking down the windows. I was glad in that moment for our significant height difference – although I was no slouch – because I couldn’t look him in the eyes. Everything was becoming too much for me. The physical connections were mind-blowing, sure, but Tom was either starting to reveal an emotional side to me heretofore unseen, or had finally manipulated me to a dangerous tipping point. I resolved not to think on it, as I wanted this blissful reprieve from the truths of our separate – yes, separate – lives to last as long as possible. And we still had a somewhat long stretch of time to enjoy.

The song played out, hitting the bridge with that devastatingly good piano riff, and I felt Tom rubbing my back in wide, soft circles. He made no move to change our pace or move our position, so content was he to spin me in careful, intimate circles. The press of his mouth on my hand – a lingering kiss – didn’t signal that the song was ending or he wanted to separate. He merely tangled our fingers together again anew and continued to lead in what had become a very hypnotic dance.

 

_Baby close the door_

_Listen girl I have something I wanna show you_

_I wish you’d open up cause_

_I wanna take the walls down with you_

 

As the lyrics ended and the final strains of the song faded into the quiet of the cottage, Tom continued to move with me, imperceptibly swaying us as he had for the past several minutes. The only music left to fill the room resided in the raindrops outside, and the licking of the fireplace’s flames. Tom was the first to break the silence – as we still moved together.

“Are you hungry, my darling?”

_How that word used to piss me off…_

He felt me nodding and broke apart from my grasp slightly to look down at me, smiling generously at my relaxed state.

“How about you get comfortable and I make us some food, sweet? Find us something to watch so we can relax more, hmm?”

On tiptoe, I disentangled myself from him and kissed him softly on the mouth before simply replying with an “ok”. I wanted to watch him working in the kitchen, as he soon began making a lot of noise gathering various things, but I booted up my laptop and accessed Netflix, rummaging around My List for things that might be of interest to both of us. Feeling cheeky, I called over to him.

“Can we watch something you’re in?” I winked as he looked up at me, a barely-there blush showing on his cheeks.

“If you must,” he replied, pained. “I’m extremely self-conscious of stuff like that.”

This surprised me. Surely he of the _inimitable_ ego would relish the idea of watching himself, reveling in how good his performances were. His body language told me otherwise when I dared peek at him again. It only lasted a moment, but the discomfort was real. When it vanished he resumed cutting up what looked to be a variety of fruits and cheeses. Doing my best to find something intriguing for the both of us to watch, I was lost in my task until the clink of wine glasses on the coffee table made me aware of the spread Tom had prepared: wedges of various cheeses, chunks of crusty bread, grapes, sliced berries, melon, and a newly-opened bottle of white wine.

“I’m impressed,” I nodded, reaching out to prize a small chunk of what appeared to be smoked gouda off of the large plate he’d assembled. Before I could pop the cheese into my mouth, Tom grabbed me, pulling me backward from the table and into his waiting lap on the couch. I shrieked in surprise as he growled playfully in my ear.

“Oh no, love. Your only job was to find something to watch. _You_ don’t feed you,” he nipped at my earlobe lightly. “ _I feed you_.”

I huffed in mock irritation, playing up my disappointment that I couldn’t stuff my own face.

“Fine, then. Just for that I’m making us watch Avengers,” I announced gleefully as he groaned behind me. While he reached out to pour us both some wine, he asked why I was so insistent on seeing him onscreen. I hesitated, not wanting to answer. Instead, I put on my politest face and asked him to feed me a strawberry, smiling at him when he obeyed immediately. Except the fleshy red fruit never made it to my mouth.

“I’ll feed you when you’ve answered me,” he winked mischievously.

“You just like seeing me with my mouth open and waiting, don’t you?” I winked back, surprising him when I reached out and poked him in the stomach. Little good it did, as his muscles were quite firm, even in a relaxed state. I was hungry and knew he wouldn’t give me the satisfaction of giving in, so I rolled my eyes and settled myself against him as the opening credits played.

“Because Loki marks the first time I ever saw you on film,” I admitted, “and your performance as him was just…” I mimicked fanning myself, blowing out a breath.

He popped the berry into my mouth, taking care to trace my lower lip with his thumb when he withdrew. “So you liked me, then?” He sounded unsure of himself.

_That’s a first._

I swallowed the fruit, pointing at a small chunk of the rustic-looking bread that I wanted. I knew he would give it to me when I had, again, answered his question.

“Very much so. You play dark very, very well.”

I got my piece of bread.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” I asked after I had swallowed. We were almost to the part in the beginning of the film when Loki appears through the portal at S.H.I.E.L.D.’s New Mexico facility.

“I will in a moment,” he wrapped his arms around me, continuing. “I’d rather like to watch you watching me.”

_Reminiscent of his staring during our night at the opera._

Pressing myself into him, I retorted. “Well I apologize for any obscene noises that might come out of my mouth, then.” And I pointed to a cluster of dewy green grapes. He picked them up, holding them away from me.

“Watch, sweet girl. Then I’ll feed you more.”

He did elect to hand me a half-full wine glass of Moscato, silently affirming I could sip to my heart’s content as the scene unfolded.

Although I’d watched Loki’s sinister appearance at the beginning of Avengers a handful of times, he still managed to take my breath away every time I saw him. He looked maniacal, exhausted – sinister. Any trace of the man curled around me was gone. Tom truly inhabited the character, turning what might have been a one-dimensional trickster into a fully-fledged tragic, sensual, and dangerous god. I waited until the scene ended with Loki escaping into the desert alongside Barton, and then turned a little ways in his lap to run my hand through his hair affectionately.

“Nothing to fret about,” I smiled. “Your work is wonderful.”

He leaned into my touch, closing his eyes and making a pleased “hmm” sound in his throat. I leaned forward toward the table while his eyes were still closed and grabbed a piece of fruit. The grapes he’d intended for me sat forgotten. “Open,” I whispered sweetly, and instead of taking me to task for not letting him do the feeding, he obediently opened his mouth, staring into my eyes as he leaned forward to capture the piece of melon between his lips. A little dart of pleasure thrilled through me as I felt his tongue swipe against the pad of my thumb, sucking softly for a moment before he began chewing.

“Thank you, lovely,” he responded after he swallowed. “May I have more?” He was looking at me so intently while I fed him several additional pieces of fruit and cheese that I felt moisture beginning to gather between my legs. His continued attentions to my fingers, swiping his tongue around them with each morsel, were reminding me just how talented his mouth was. We continued to trade back and forth, feeding each other and replenishing our wine glasses as the movie played in the background, now almost an afterthought. I was more concerned with watching his eyes and mouth as he dined at my hand. It wasn’t until I heard the beginning strains of Schubert’s String Quartet #13, in A Minor, that my focus returned to the film.

“I have to say,” I admitted, settling back into Tom’s arms, “anytime I hear this piece of music now, I’m instantly turned on.”

He placed his glass carefully on the table and pulled me back against him, loosening the blanket that was still wrapped around me. “And why is that, sweet girl?”

I stared at Loki on the screen, feeling Tom peeling back the blanket to reveal me naked underneath. The God of Mischief was making his dramatic entrance in Stuttgart, clad in Dolce and Gabbana.

“Because Loki is devastatingly handsome,” I stuttered, breath hitching as Tom ran his hands down the sides of my breasts and wrapped his hands around my belly. “And very dominant.”

“Am I being rewarded for my performance, I wonder?” he mused behind me, his splayed legs encasing mine. “Did I do a thorough job?” I didn’t know what he meant until he ran the fingers of his right hand down through my curls, skimming lightly over my clit. I hissed in pleasure, keeping watch on the screen. Loki was clocking the security guard and hauling the next unfortunate soul toward a very painful eye procedure.

“Oh, my baby…” Tom breathed. “You’re drenching my fingers, sweet girl.”

I gathered my faculties enough to grab onto his thighs on either side of me, spreading wider as he tickled my wetness lightly.

“Don’t you get it?” I murmured, breathing heavily as he lightly trailed his fingertips over my clit. “This is what you do to me…all the t–time.”

Flicking my eyes back to the screen, Loki had transformed into his green and gold regalia, screaming at the German crowd to kneel before him. “Fuck,” I moaned, watching as the infamous “Kneel” speech began. Suddenly, Tom slipped two of his fingers deep into my slit, sitting up with me in his lap so that he could whisper in my ear as I watched. I cried out at the sudden, pleasurable fullness.

“Is not this simpler? Is this not your natural state?” Tom recited the words alongside his film self, growling each word in my ear as he languidly thrust his long fingers in and out of my weeping pussy. “It’s the unspoken truth of humanity that you crave subjugation…the bright lure of freedom…diminishes your life’s joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity…”

His fingers moved faster, the heel of his hand brushing forcefully against the painfully aroused little bud at my apex. “You were made to be ruled,” he hissed, gently biting down on my earlobe. “In the end, you will always kneel.” The speech was quite enough to get me going, but Tom continued his ministrations and, as ever, continued speaking to me. The film was all but forgotten as my mind clouded with pleasure and my ears filled with the sweet sound of his dark voice.

“Yes, baby girl…ride my fingers with your greedy little pussy,” he moaned in my ear. He held me tightly against him with one arm while his talented fingers made quick work of my pleasure. “It makes me so hard to know that you like to watch me…that you get hot for me when I’m working.” All I could do was gasp his name as he began curling his fingers, rubbing against my g-spot ruthlessly. My clit strained for each touch of the heel of his hand.

“I can be anything you want me to be, sweet girl.” He started to press warm kisses to the side of my neck and shoulder. “I can romance you, I can fuck you, I can dominate you, I can love…” he stopped at that statement. I barely noticed, as he took to turning me slightly so as to suck on the tender skin of my collarbone. His long fingers swept in and out of me at a frantic pace, making lurid noises with how wet I’d become. I could do nothing but obey my hips, moving in time with his rhythm, and my breath was stolen from me with each inhalation.

“When we had our little photo shoot, my love, having Loki’s helmet there made me want to put on the costume and fuck you as him,” he revealed, fingers canting inside of me as I felt the wetness oozing onto my thighs.

“I fantasized about you holding onto my horns while I feasted from between your delectable legs…”

“Oh holy _shit…”_ I groaned. “I’ve…mmm...thought about th–that _…aah…many_ times,” I ground out, whimpering.

“I can hear how excited that makes you, sweet,” he purred. “Does my baby like when daddy is bad?”

_Oh my fucking holy Jesus Christ…_

I could barely stutter out a yes. My mind was blanking out, concentrating only on the first telltale quivers in my stomach and Tom’s increasingly obscene voice.

“Yes, lovely, that feels good, doesn’t it…look at those gorgeous hips moving for me…”

“Are you going to be my good girl and come, baby?”

Suddenly, I was right at the edge of the precipice...and then I wasn’t.

_Goddammit why did you STOP?!_

Tom pulled his hand away from me, sat me up, and moved to stand. I was so stunned that I laid before him, still shaking, arousal cranked up to twelve and mentally screaming at him for denying me as the first traces of my orgasm dissolved. I collapsed flat onto the couch, throwing an arm over my face and sighing deeply, fisting a hand into the blanket that surrounded me. The only sound was my harsh breathing as I struggled to regain a normal heart rate and fight the urge to scream at him for leaving me in such a state.

“You look so beautiful when you’re agitated, lovely,” Tom cooed from somewhere above me. “I won’t lie. This power that I have over your body is immensely intoxicating.” I turned my head away from him, feeling all of my muscles relaxing as the threat of climax ebbed away. Hearing Tom move, I looked back at him to see that he had positioned himself on the opposite end of the couch from me and was kneeling very closely to my legs. Angrily, I tried to snap them shut, but he anticipated my frustration and moved his hands quickly to my knees to keep me embarrassingly open before his gaze.

“Do you want me to prove how much you’re mine, my sweet?” He stroked soft hands down my inner thighs toward my sex, and the muscles jumped at his touch. The tiny whine in the back of my throat began as soon as he started kissing his way down my thighs, watching my reactions. He took his time alternating between each leg, stopping at certain points to blow a stream of warm air onto my already overheated flesh. I threaded my hands in my hair just so I could avoid grabbing his head and shoving his mouth where I needed it most. I wanted to maintain a shred of dignity, at least.

Tom continued his descent toward my pulsing sex, leisurely working his way across the inches of my smooth flesh with his lips and tongue. Occasionally he grazed his teeth across a sensitive patch of my skin, causing me to flinch in anticipation of his next movement. When he reached my pussy, he did nothing other than spread my soaked lips with his thumbs, staring up at me. I bit my lip to keep from screaming, just wishing he would do something to end my agony. I was shaking uncontrollably, eyes glued to his. Long ago, my hands had moved from my hair to cup my breasts, as I sought out any form of stimulation I could in the absence of his attentions. He repeated his earlier query, breath puffing right onto my engorged little button. “Do you want me to prove how much you’re mine, lovely? I can…” he chuckled evilly, a dark sound reminiscent of the Norse god I’d just seen.

“All I have to do is this.” Never breaking eye contact, he lowered his head and opened his mouth so I could see his tongue peeking out. Slowly, he pressed the entirety of it right against my clit, snug and firm, and didn’t move an inch; he just stared at me, desire written on his face.

That was enough to deliver the orgasm I’d been straining toward for the better part of a half hour.

 

 

 

The remainder of our viewing of Avengers consisted of Tom staying between my legs, touching and teasing me intermittently as I struggled to keep my attentions on the screen. To no one’s surprise, he became particularly aggressive in his ministrations during Loki’s scenes: the glass cage, the fight scene, the end. By the time the credits were rolling, I was a frustrated, shaking mess – again.

“My lovely girl,” Tom cooed at me as his fingers continued to drag lazily around my clit, “what do you need? Tell me?”

With head thrown back and eyes closed, I was too focused on the cresting pleasure I was feeling to come up with a timely response. Tom apparently didn’t approve, so he placed a light smack right onto the wet flesh between my legs. It wasn’t hard enough to make me scream, but it did earn him a gravelly moan.

“Baby…I don’t think I did that hard enough, did I? Hmm? Otherwise you wouldn’t be thrusting your hips at me, would you?” He sounded downright diabolical, so desperate was I for another orgasm.

“Let’s try that again.”

A harder, stinging slap had me burning, my clit throbbing pleasurably to the point of pain.

_“Ouch…fuck!”_ I cried. “Do it again…” It was out of my mouth before I knew what I was asking of him. He was only too happy to oblige.

Three quick pats, increasingly firmer, landed on me, finally causing me to yelp loudly enough for his satisfaction. I could see the approval shining in his eyes when I looked up, silently cursing him for leaving me so on edge.

“Are you ready to tell me what you need, sweet girl?” He began lightly rubbing against my clit again, watching his own fingers glide through my slickness. Out of frustration, I wanted to say something that would arouse him to the point of obedience, so I murmured the first thing that came to mind.

“Make me yours.”

My response didn’t have the desired reaction. He simply smiled at me and continued his torturous pace. “Baby, I already have…haven’t I?”

Strong, independent me from several months ago was gone. All I could do was nod.

_Bastard._

“Thank you for being honest with me, my sweet love. I think we both know that your body is mine. Would I be correct in presuming that the rest of you is mine too?” The weight of his words was heavy, but I was in dire search of satisfaction and ignored his meaning. I simply agreed – whatever it took for him to bring me blessed relief again.

He knelt down, seeming to examine the aroused anatomy before him. “I don’t think, Kate, that I will ever tire of seeing you this way,” he breathed reverently, “or of making you this way.” He dragged his fingertips from my clit down to my entrance, gently fitting two long digits inside of me before resuming his attentions to my little pearl with his mouth. He made loud, lascivious licking and sucking noises, sounds that quickly accelerated me toward my end. I coursed my hands through his unruly hair, pressing myself into him as much as possible, feeling every swipe of his tongue echo through the pleasure points of my body.

“Yes oh my god… _FUCK_ …”

This orgasm was much shorter than the last, but I felt it keenly, sharp contractions stealing my breath and clenching my stomach. I was able to prolong the satisfying sensations by staring down at him, watching as he tasted and touched me with complete abandon. Once sated, I tried pushing him away but he had a vice grip on me, pulling his fingers from my core to grab hold of the ticklish skin behind my knees. He continued long, intermittent licks to my clit that had me flinching and begging him to stop, while he chuckled all the while at my exhaustion. Leaning back slightly and wiping off his mouth, he gave me a searing look before lunging down to scoop me off the couch and into his arms.

“So glad that I’ve warmed you up, darling,” he kissed me on the mouth, and I tasted the musky remnants of my desire. “Now it’s my turn.”

He carried me back into our – no – _the_ bedroom, and placed me gently in the center of the bed. I watched with hooded eyelids as he stripped off what few clothes he wore, ordering me to get on my hands and knees. “I want you on all fours, sweet girl. Facing that mirror over there,” he pointed, before rummaging around in his bag again for another condom. “You’re going to watch me fuck you, Kate.”

Heat flooded me. Again.

“You’re going to watch me fuck you and you’re going to watch your body open and bloom for me, take me inside of you…”

I gasped, visions of all the above flitting behind my eyes.

_He’s going to be the death of you._

Stalking over to the bed, he gently turned me around, positioning me onto all fours with a hand at the nape of my neck, guiding me downwards. My limbs were so relaxed from his earlier attentions that he molded me easily into the position he wanted. And he wasted no time slipping into me, seating himself fully in one satisfying thrust. I gripped the duvet cover in my hands, cursing softly at the pleasurable tightness.

“Such a good girl,” Tom growled. “But we’re not done.”

He pulled me upright, my back against his front, as his arm snaked around the front of my body to begin plucking at my sensitive nipples.

“Look in the mirror, baby,” he purred. “Look how wide you’re spread for me. Can you see my cock, love? Lift up just a little…” he trailed off. I rose on my knees slightly, my eyes automatically dropping down to see his generous length sliding in and out of me.

“Oh my god,” I moaned, the stimulation and visual too much to handle. I raised my arms behind my head to anchor myself to him, hands pulling him flush against me by his neck.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” He urged me up and down on him, keeping one arm wrapped around me as his free hand wandered down between my legs, fingers splitting in a V-shape so he could hold me open and watch our coupling. “Tell me you love how we fit together, sweet girl,” he panted, moving his fingers to start rasping against my clit, now sensitized beyond belief. I could only nod wordlessly as I continued to watch us in the mirror – me, flushed and wanton; him, intense and gorgeous, all lean muscle and sinew.

“Tell me you know how beautiful you look to me.” His query was met with my own sharp, panting exhales. I scratched my nails along the warm skin of his neck, pleasure making me aggressive.

“Look at my face, baby,” he commanded darkly. My gaze snapped immediately to his eyes in the mirror. “I adore you.” His exclamation made me bounce harder onto his rigid length, flexing my inner muscles so I could feel every vein and curve of his cock. My sticky sweetness was covering his fingers in increasingly copious amounts, which he used to his advantage, abusing my bundle of nerves with new ferocity.

A sharp cry of pleasure stuttered out of my mouth as he sank his teeth into the juncture between my neck and shoulder, sucking fiercely on the skin there. “My girl…” he intoned deeply, snapping his hips so my breasts heaved with each thrust. _“Mine.”_

I loosened my right hand from behind me, joining it with his own at the apex of my thighs, pressing my fingers against his to urge him on.

_“Harder,_ Tom…please,” I had tears in my eyes, the pleasure was so acute.

He immediately acquiesced, falling into the rhythm and pressure I exerted that I knew would finish me. “Of course, baby. I’ll do anything to get you to come, my sweet. To make you feel so very good,” he stared at our reflection once more as he licked along the shell of my ear, stopping to kiss the skin right underneath my earlobe. “

“G–God…don’t stop…”

“No, my love, I won’t, will I?” He swallowed the moan that bubbled out of me with a searing kiss, a kiss that felt like ownership. “I’ll keep rubbing your sweet little slick clit,” he panted. “Baby needs to come, doesn’t she?”

_“Fuck…Tom,”_ I was practically hyperventilating.

“Your pussy feels so tight around me, sweet girl. So tight for my cock…” he moaned. “It f–feels like I’m splitting y–you open…”

“I’m… _oh_ …gonna c–come,” I whined, my entire train of thought focused only on the feel of those long fingers stroking me, his thickness sliding in and out of me.

“Do it, lovely. Come,” he whispered in my ear, as his own body began to respond to the fluttering of my honeyed walls. “Show me how much your body loves me.” His thrusts became uneven, sharper. “Show me how much you love me…”

His surprising phrase set me off immediately, had me bearing down hard on him as my muscles contracted around him. He never let up on his touches, pressing my delicate flesh with each pass of his fingers, milking my orgasm. I could feel his eyes on me in the mirror but I was too far gone to care, head thrown back against his chest and hands tangled still in the bedding. My eyes remained closed as the quiet, satisfied groans fell from my lips, my hips still working against him.

“Good _girl,_ baby…” Tom groaned into my hair, and I knew I had brought him right to the brink as he lost his rhythm within and without me. He was close…

I tore myself off of him, turning to face him as an angry snarl crossed his face. Pulling off the condom, I shoved him onto his back and settled quickly between his knees to take him into my mouth, swallowing as much of him as possible. A sinister hiss issued from between his teeth, satisfaction coloring the words that he finally uttered.

“Oh _yes,_ sweet girl.”

His hands tangled in my hair as I slicked the fingers of my left hand through my own wetness, moving it onto the portion of his shaft that my mouth couldn’t reach. He’d seen the whole thing.

_“Fuck,_ you’re a little minx, aren’t you? _My_ little minx…” he breathed, his hips thrusting into my face. I hummed my approval, swirling my tongue around him as I worked my way up and back down his cock.

“I’m going t–to come down your throat, sweet girl,” he moaned, and I looked up at him with sly eyes to see his teeth clenched, muscles straining as he sought release. The sight of him made me clench my thighs together.

_Gorgeous._

_“Hah–ahh…shit…”_ His grip in my hair tightened, the pace of his hips pistoning his dripping length between my lips and tongue.

“FUCK!”

One more twist of my closed hand and a suck to his sensitive head had him spurting in my mouth, coating the back of my throat with his warm seed.

_“Ohhh…yessss...”_

His groans were deep and sexy, almost recalling Loki in their dark seductiveness. I kept swallowing everything he gave me, relishing his still lightly-thrusting hips, hearing his harsh breathing and watching the sheen of sweat trailing along his face, neck, and chest. When he slumped down, hands relaxing in my hair, I removed my hand from him and trailed my tongue softly up the length of him once more, pressing a barely-there kiss to his crown.

“Hahh,” he pulled away slightly, running a hand through his sweaty hair and curling onto his side.

I crawled up the bed toward him, trailing kisses up the center of his chest, the column of his throat, and finally stopping at his mouth. He hummed into my mouth sweetly, satisfactorily. Running his hands down my back, he grabbed my behind and pulled me down on top of him, resting my head on his shoulder and combing his hands through my hair.

“My sweet,” he whispered, moving slightly to grab the edge of the duvet and drape it overtop us. “My lovely girl.”

I placed a tiny kiss against the fluttering pulse at his throat, sighing happily and closing my eyes. Feeling warm and satisfied, I allowed myself to drift off for a nap. Tom’s even breathing signaled that he, too, was in the same frame of mind.

 

 

 

It was beginning to darken outside when I stirred, still in Tom’s embrace, and I peered at the clock on the bedside table to see how long we’d slept.

_Only an hour or so._

I was feeling hungry, and knew that Tom would be too, seeing as our lunch was mainly snacks and a whole lot of white wine. Maneuvering carefully out of his arms, I got up off the bed slowly, stretching when I stood to my full height. My limbs felt wonderfully languid – a little sore – and I was well rested and hungry.

Grabbing some clothes from my bag, I tiptoed into the bathroom, peering at handsome, sleeping Tom before I went, to relieve myself and get dressed so I could rummage around in the kitchen and begin to plan for dinner. After flushing the toilet, I looked at myself in the mirror, expecting to look like a messy train wreck. I looked flushed, no doubt, but my lips were full and my hair delightfully messy-curly. I had a few small dark patches on my throat and shoulder where Tom had paid me extra attention with his mouth.

_You look well-loved._

That l-word popped unbidden into my head, causing me to shake it. It seemed the word had been said in a lot of different ways lately, especially from Tom. But only as endearments, in moments of passion. Washing my hands, I felt a tiny pinprick of fear. What did it all mean? Was he stringing me along just to get a weekend of good sex and some attention to stroke his – ahem – ego? Or was he genuinely developing serious feelings for me? Feelings we’d danced around for months?

I splashed water on my face, taking some deep breaths and resolving to let the situation play out.

_After all, you’ve still got two days…_

The day being only Friday reminded me I needed to check my phone again for any additional communication Luke had thought to send. Quietly, I emerged from the bathroom to see Tom still deeply asleep, mouth slightly open and his long legs taking up most of the bed, diagonally. I smiled at him, at how he’d taken care of me thus far, the loving way he attended to my needs and to me. There had been no trace of selfishness on his part. I'd been happy, I realized, to have him with me.

Walking into the kitchen area, I grabbed my phone and walked over to the couch, swiping the screen to check for any messages. Luke hadn’t sent me anything, and neither had anyone else.

_Time to jump-start dinner._

Sitting my phone on the coffee table beside our abandoned noontime snacks, I grabbed the empty wine glasses and plate of leftovers to take to the kitchen when Tom’s phone lit up beside mine.

He had an incoming message.

And despite my best attempt to ignore it, I read what the message said right as it flashed on the notification screen.

 

_**Looking forward to working with you, handsome.** _

_**B   xo**_

 

Sickness settled quickly – quite easily – in my stomach as I went through the motions of picking up the dishes and empty wine bottle from the coffee table. I took everything to the kitchen, piling it all in the sink on autopilot. Leaning over the sink, I had to take several deep breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth as the nauseating flush worked its way through my body.

Walking back over to the couch, I grabbed my books strewn around, stacking them.

I packed my laptop and charger in their bag.

By the time I had cleaned up my things in the living room and put my phone in my purse, I was crying silently.

_Just get your stuff out of the bedroom and get to the car._

Treading as quietly as I could, I went into the bathroom to gather my toiletries, putting them all in my cosmetics bag.

I then worked quickly on finding my clothes that had been strewn everywhere, throwing them haphazardly in my overnight duffel.

Tom didn’t move a muscle. His breathing remained steady, even.

Once all my things were packed, I grabbed my bag, my phone charger, and took one last look at him, heart aching. A few more tears fell from my eyes.

_You KNEW this would happen. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get OUT._

Steeling myself, I consolidated all my belongings, making sure the keys to the cottage were left on the coffee table beside Tom’s phone where he would find them.

Shouldering my laptop bag and purse, and then stowing my books into my overnight bag, I zipped the case angrily while walking toward the door, shuffling into my shoes. With as soft a “click” as I could manage, I opened and shut the door and left.

I left my job.

I left the ridiculous rat-race to which I’d subjected myself.

I left a friendship with Luke, and Nic, and all the actors and actresses I’d come to like and admire.

And I left him.

 

I got maybe ten miles down the road when I had to pull over, so blinded was I by the tears filling my eyes.


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate moves on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's feedback for this story has been OUTSTANDING. When I decided to try my hand at writing fics - only a few weeks ago - I never expected all the encouragement and compliments that I've gotten. I've had a really wonderful time writing this story, and I am already working on something brand new for you all.
> 
> As for Tom and Kate…?
> 
> Love you. Thank you.

_**Hiddles Heats Up** _

_**Rumourroom.co.uk** _

_Dear Readers,_

_We know many of you have been watching with much interest as Tom Hiddleston’s career has steadily climbed this year…sexy scandals, an intriguing relationship with his personal assistant, Kate Michael, FOUR films coming out very soon…_

_It’s been a good year to be Hiddles._

_And it might be getting even better, friends, because rumour has it that TH will indeed be getting an Oscar nomination for his work in_ I Saw The Light _, the Hank Williams biopic he worked so hard for._

_We admire the hustle, Tom._

_Here at Rumour Room, we can honestly say (hands over our hearts!) that we HOPE Tom’s success is in part due to the lovely Kate Michael, the one girl we keep wondering about._

_Have they or haven’t they?_

_A source got in touch with us two days ago, lovelies, to let us know that Kate recently dropped off Prosper UK’s radar. Match that info up with some grainy pap photos of Hiddles being spotted in the Cotswolds recently, and…_

_We think they have, dear readers,_

_Rumour Room_

 

 

_**Michael Leaves Prosper UK** _

_**The Guardian** _

_Recent fan clamour around Tom Hiddleston’s personal assistant Kate Michael has reached such a fever pitch that Luke_ _Windsor, the creative director and head of Prosper UK, London’s top publicity firm, has released a blanket statement via Prosper’s social media accounts._

_“It is with great sadness that Prosper announces the departure of Miss Kate Michael, after giving us nearly a year of selfless, top-quality work in the public relations field. Kate was an integral part of our team, and became one of the most well-liked, effective PAs in our company. She has elected to leave her position to return to the field of academics. My staff, clients, and I wish her nothing but the absolute best.”_

_Kate Michael’s move comes at a bittersweet time for one of Prosper’s most influential talents, Tom Hiddleston. The RADA grad was recently nominated for his first Academy Award for Best Actor in Marc Abraham’s Hank Williams picture_ I Saw The Light _. Many believe that Michael’s role as Hiddleston’s PA helped him garner this latest bout of acclaim._

_Although Hiddleston could not be reached for comment, friends of the actor say he is devastated by the recent loss._

_“Tom holds Kate in the highest regard and is understandably saddened at her decision to leave the business. He wishes her nothing but the best.”_

 

 

_**To: “Luke J. Windsor” ljwindsor@prosperpr.co.uk** _

_**From: “Kate Michael” kmichael@prosperpr.co.uk** _

_**Subject: Thank You** _

_Luke,_

_Just wanted to thank you for expediting my termination paperwork. I know it’s been less than two weeks, but I didn’t really have any upcoming work on the horizon and I left my client’s business dealings in fairly good shape, I think._

_You’ve been very understanding of what’s happened recently, and I sincerely appreciate your offer to relinquish me of any financial losses or responsibilities I may owe you and Prosper. As much as I’d like to keep all the goodies, I can’t. Knowing the majority of them were from Tom makes me want them gone. I’ve packed everything in boxes and will ship them wherever you request. Postage is on me!_

_It’s been a hell of a ride, lobsterback, and I am so thankful you took a shot on me at that lunch I interrupted in Covent Garden all those months ago. I’m only sorry I lost the bet and didn’t make it the full year! So close…_

_Keep in touch with me. I’ve decided not to return to America just yet._

_With much love and respect,_

_Kate_

 

 

_**Blind Item** _

_**Shhh! News** _

_This foreign-born mostly movie A-list actor was recently spotted in a famous nightclub somewhere in Europe, in his cups and drinking away his recent loss. We’ve been told it was a huge misunderstanding that led to the heartthrob’s heartache, but he could be heard telling other patrons, “I’m a f-cking twat. I’m done.”_

_Apparently a recent relationship between the actor and someone very publicly close to him imploded, and although it wasn’t technically his fault, we’re hoping he sees the light and puts things right..._

 

 

_**To: “Kate Michael” kmichael@gmail.com** _

_**From: “Luke J. Windsor” ljwindsor@prosperpr.co.uk** _

_**Subject: Re: Thank You** _

_Kate,_

_No problem._

_Consider everything repayment for some of the, eh, emotional damage I’ve caused. Not directly, I understand, but I put you two together, basically. I know you don’t want to speak to him and I’ve advised him that he is to contact you under NO circumstances; he has no reason to now, since you’re no longer professionally involved._

_But he did want me to pass on that the situation was a misunderstanding. I know he can be difficult but I still do believe, deep down, he’s a great person._

_You were so wonderful to work with and I appreciate all your efforts at keeping all our clients – especially him – on the up and up. It was great fun having you around._

_Ship the boxes to me at the office and I’ll take care of the rest. But please remember, you are very welcome to keep anything you want._

_Also, I heard on the grapevine that there might be a prospective job on the horizon? So glad you might be staying a part of the Commonwealth!_

_Call me whenever, Yank._

_Luke_

 

 

_**To: “Kate Michael” kmichael@gmail.com** _

_**From: “David Layne” dlayne@chch.ox.ac.uk** _

_**Subject: Inquiry** _

_Ms. Michael,_

_Thank you for your inquiry into the English faculty position at Christ Church. Our hiring committee has perused your qualifications and we wish to schedule an interview and teaching demonstration to follow, if you are still interested in pursuing the opportunity._

_Should you choose to accept our invitation, we ask that you prepare a 20-minute lecture demo on any of the work you’ve written and/or published in the last five years. We have a dearth of 19th Century specialists at the moment and would like you to focus on anything from that time period, please._

_Feel free to call or email me with any questions. I am available until the end of the day tomorrow (Tuesday) to arrange an appointment time for you._

_Best,_

_David Layne_

_Chair of English Faculty Board_

 

 

_**To: “Luke J. Windsor” ljwindsor@prosperpr.co.uk** _

_**From: “Tom Hiddleston” twhiddleston@gmail.com** _

_**Subject: Re: Replacement** _

_Hey man,_

_I appreciate you giving me an option to choose who’s going to be taking Kate’s place, but honestly, I can’t even think about that right now._

_Just get someone for me. Make sure it’s either you or a guy we already have in the office._

_Have you heard from her?_

 

 

_**To: “Tom Hiddleston” twhiddleston@gmail.com** _

_**From: “Luke J. Windsor” ljwindsor@prosperpr.co.uk** _

_**Subject: Re: Re: Replacement** _

_I’ll fill in for the meantime but it’ll probably be Chad._

_She and I have talked. Don’t ask me anything else._

_L_

 

 

_**To: “Tom Hiddleston” twhiddleston@gmail.com** _

_**From: “Dr. Nina Hart” ninahart@nhscounselling.com** _

_**Subject: Re: Hello** _

_Mr. Hiddleston,_

_I’m pleased to answer your questions._

_Also, rest assured, our business has worked with some high-profile clients in the past and NDAs are standard for us. Confidentiality is a hallmark of our service._

_I would want to do an initial psych evaluation and have a meeting with you to get a feel for what kind of guidance you’re wanting. If you’re more comfortable working with a male therapist, we can easily arrange that too. If privacy is a worry, we can dispatch someone to your home to work with you._

_We offer services based around individual therapy, couples counselling, pre-marriage therapy, and more psychiatric-based counselling for sexual therapy. Let me know how we can help you!_

_Nina Hart_

_BACP Certified Counselor_

_BASRT Sex Therapist_

 

 

**Several Months Later**

 

If there was anything that I’d learned from being a professor, it was that one of the greatest gifts was having a graduate assistant help with grading and everyday tasks. When you’re teaching at a large university, the number of essays and exams can kill your desire to live. That’s why Hayley was my gift from heaven.

That and she always brought me coffee every morning when I arrived on campus.

“Morning, ma’am,” she smiled as she placed a steaming hot cup, black with two sugars, on my desk. Said desk looked like a copy machine had vomited all over it, papers strewn everywhere.

_Only half of these fuckers have been marked. Ugh._

“Thank you, dear girl,” I sighed as I gingerly took a first sip of the steaming concoction. “Mmmm.” I gestured with one hand to all the piles of papers and pens randomly placed on the flat surface that was my life. “I’ve managed a good half of the midterms, but it’s becoming very clear to me that most of these first year students haven’t even finished reading _Wuthering Heights_. And the textual citations are _dismal,”_ I whined.

Hayley sat in one of my comfy office chairs and giggled before I continued my train of thought. “And please, please don’t call me ‘ma’am’, okay? I’m only a few years older than you and you make me sound like a schoolmarm!”

She nodded obediently, grabbing an unread stack of essays and rifling through some of them. Stopping at one in particular, I heard her intake of breath before she spoke.

“Oh…now _this_ is interesting. I’m wondering if this young lady is trying to curry favor with you by mentioning – get this – Tom Hiddleston as Heathcliff,” she laughed aloud, looking up to meet my rolling eyes.

“People just can’t seem to forget I used to work with him can, they?” I sighed.

“Well it’s not like you were just an assistant, were you? You were photographed out with him…then there was that threat he issued to that journalist…” she trailed off, looking at me expectantly, papers still in her hands.

“Ancient history,” I replied. “Besides, I much prefer the little bit of anonymity that Oxford has so graciously afforded me.”

Hayley smiled at me momentarily, and then frowned, as she seemed to remember something. “Oh! Almost forgot,” she rushed out of the room, rustling all the dead trees stacked on every inch of my work surface.

“Forgot what?” I called loudly, hoping my response would carry down the hall in the direction she’d gone. I didn’t hear a reply but wasn’t kept waiting long. She waltzed back in with a stack of envelopes and a large package in a manila envelope.

“Forgot to get your mail yesterday, so there’s quite a bit.”

She handed me the stack of items, flopping down into her abandoned seat and picking up a pen to begin paring down the pile of ungraded midterms.

_Hmm…two research journals, reminder from the department chair about the next committee meeting, student request to be his doctoral advisor…_

Most of it I set aside. But the intriguing shape and weight of the manila package had me curious immediately. There was no indication of who it was from, and only my name and office address were listed on the front, carefully handwritten in a bold font. I tore the top of the package open and was met with the touch of shrink-wrapped plastic.

_Holy shit, it’s the Vanity Fair issue. Oh god. Oh god oh god._

Looking up, I saw that Hayley was immersed in grading, her tongue poking between her lips.

“Hayley, could you be a dear and run down to Dr. Layne’s office?” I handed her the letter about the committee meeting, continuing. “Ask him to give me a list of the prospective candidates we’re admitting, would you?”

Acquiescent as always, she smiled, nodded, and reached for the letter. Then she noticed the magazine I was clutching in my hands.

“Aw, I love _Vanity Fair_. Could I maybe read it when you’re done with it?” She was looking at me hopefully, innocently.

“Sure,” I responded absentmindedly, tearing into the plastic. I had the wrapping off the magazine and in the trash by the time she was gone.

Nothing about the issue suggested there was anything inside it to frighten me, but I had no subscription to _Vanity Fair_ , and this issue marked several months’ time since the infamous actor-assistant photo spread they’d shot.

_This has to be the one. Oh, shit._

The cover was as normal-looking as possible, Keira Knightley prettily pouting on the front in Hermes. At the bottom right corner, I noticed the blurb that would most likely feature me.

_And him._

 

_**NOT JUST THE HELP:** _

_**Powerhouse Assistants of Hollywood’s Finest** _

 

My hands were shaking as I went in search of the spread, but someone had already done the work for me, it seemed.

A small sliver of white paper peeked out of the top, closed pages of the issue. I knew without a doubt that this was the bookmark that would reveal a lot of painfully happy memories for me.

_I could always just chuck it into the trash._

I considered my options.

_But Hayley wanted to see it…and it’s going to come out eventually._

I took several steadying breaths.

_Just look at it. What’s the worst that can happen?_

Shaking my head to eliminate the thoughts rattling in my head, I slipped a finger into the pages of the magazine right where the little makeshift bookmark had been placed. It fluttered onto the floor, unnoticed.

My fingers opened onto the beginning of the spread, where a picture of Benedict Cumberbatch and his niece Emily greeted me. I laughed, seeing her in a resplendent gown shooting at him with a water gun, drenching his tux. His hands were up in mock surrender, mirth all over his face. The shot had been captioned “ _Family Fun_ ”.

The article was practically nonexistent, so chock-full of actor-assistant photos it was. There were a variety of shots of famous people being “clobbered” by their “help”, with a particularly funny one of Brad Pitt’s children joining his PA to gang up on their father, finger paint on all hands involved. “ _Army of One_ ” appeared in text beside the image.

After turning four or five pages, looking at all the small, single shots of the world’s acting elite, I flipped to the end of the article.

I gasped as tears filled my eyes.

_Oh my god._

Tom and I were given a full-color, two page spread consisting of no less than ten shots. The saturated greens and golds of my ensemble were practically flying off the page at me. The back-to-back shot the photographer initially set up wasn’t even used – almost everything was candid.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, breath heaving in my chest. The photos were gorgeous.

_Just like all the best shots of us. Unaware of the cameras._

Smaller pictures from our time at the Savoy dotted the corners of both pages, some of them showing us arranging ourselves, or relaxing in the moment. But the two largest shots – one blown up on the left page of the spread, the other blown up on the right – were the ones taken on our “throne”.

The left shot showed me glowering into the camera, sitting regally atop the chair that seemed transformed into a royal dais. My jewelry glittered, my eyes sharp and commanding. I looked like a blond Elizabeth Taylor in _Cleopatra._ At my feet, Tom splayed gracefully in his Armani, staring up at me with awed satisfaction on his handsome face. He had stretched out, leaning back on an elbow, as I balanced Loki’s horns easily along my arm, grasping them. I read the caption.

“ _Loki’s Queen_ ”

But if I thought that picture was the most breathtaking thing I’d ever seen, I hadn’t yet examined the right side of the spread.

I was artfully stretched out in Tom’s lap, both of us on the throne, just as we’d been at the end of the shoot. My gown billowed down around us, the gold coiling of my snake-like shoes peeking out, dangling to the side of the chair. I had hold of his arm with my left hand, and my right was pulling on his Loki helmet very gently, our heads tilted together. We had huge smiles on our faces, looking relaxed and comfortable amid the staid interior of the hotel suite and the expensive quality of our clothing.

His free hand, not around me, was playing in my messy hair, long fingers tangled in the curled tresses. I could see the tip of his tongue peeking out between his teeth, and I knew he had probably just started to laugh at something I’d said or done.

Sniffling, I wiped my eyes to better read the caption at the bottom of the page.

“ _The Look of Love_ ”

That was all it took to have me sobbing, throwing the magazine closed onto my desk and crying into my hands.

Hayley chose that moment to come barging back into my office.

“Dr. Layne said that–”

“Hayley I’m sorry…” I wiped my face quickly. “Could you just give me a moment, please?” My breath hitched again and again as I tried to calm myself back into a respectable, professional demeanor. She nodded, eyes wide, and scuttled out the door, closing it as she went.

The temptation was too great. I grabbed for the magazine again, tearing through the pages until I returned to our photos.

_Look at you two. If people didn’t know any better…_

But people didn’t know any better. Everyone, apparently, at _Vanity Fair_ saw something there, deeming it “love”. I shook my head sadly, feeling a fresh wave of tears.

_Love does not dishonor others._

I’d known what I was getting into when I joined Prosper – had even known what I was getting into when I made that damned agreement to work solely for Tom. But look how far I’d fallen once I dared to hope, to relax. To give over to feelings that I had.

_You knew better._

I backed away from my desk, attempting to straighten my clothes and grab a tissue from inside my purse on the floor. As I rummaged around my bag, I noticed the small white slip of paper that had fallen out of the magazine, marking the fated place I’d been shown. It had scribbled writing on it. I smiled sadly, grabbing for the paper.

_Luke, my dear friend…_

I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue as I placed the bookmark on my desk, blowing my nose and clearing my head before reading whatever sweet little note the redcoat had sent me.

 

_**I am so profoundly sorry for what has happened.** _

_**It will always be you, for me.** _

_**The true 'look of love', there...** _

 

_**Tom** _


End file.
